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LITTLE MASTERPIECES OF 
ENGLISH POETRY 



LITTLE MASTERPIECES 
OF ENGLISH POETRY 

By British and American Authors 



EDITED BY 

HENRY VAN DYKE 

ASSISTED BY 

HARDIN CRAIG, PH.D. 

INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH LITERATURE 
PRINCETON 



Volume I 
BALLADS OLD AND NEW 



NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1905 



OCT 23 mb 






Copyright, 1905, by 
DouBLEDAY, Page & Company 



Published September, 1905 




All rights reserved, including that 
of translation — also right of transla- 
tion into the Scandinavian languages 



GENERAL PREFACE 

This is a collection of Little Masterpieces of 
Poetry. The title of the collection gives the clue 
to the principle of choice. This is not an at- 
tempt to make another historical anthology of 
English verse, giving illustrations of the work of 
every -acknowledged poet more or less famous, 
and carefully apportioning the number of selec- 
tions from each writer according to the supposed 
measure of his fame. That question, indeed, has 
not entered into the process of choice, to disturb 
and hamper it. It has not been necessary to ask 
whether too much has been taken from one poet, 
or too little from another. I have looked only 
at the value and the beauty of the poems them- 
selves, at their perfection as poetry, at the clear- 
ness, strength, and depth of their feeling, at the 
truth and vividness of their imagery, at the power 
or the loveliness of their expression and form. 
Those that seemed the best have been chosen out 
of many, not to illustrate a theory, but for their 
own sake, because they are good to read. 

A masterpiece, of course, cannot be a fragment 
or an extract. It must stand alone, complete and 
rounded; and no matter how small it may be, it 
must carry within itself its own claim to excel- 
lence. For this reason I have not included any 



General Preface 

disconnected portions of longer poems, or brilliant 
passages from works which as a whole are not 
of even merit. Each poem that has been chosen 
is given in its entirety, as the author wrote it. 
The only exception is in the case of certain songs 
and lyrics, which can be taken out of their setting 
in a play or a story, without marring either their 
form or their effect; and this is not an exception 
in reality, but only in appearance. 

Some poems of great beauty, like Milton's 
Comus and Tennyson's Maud, reluctant as I am 
to omit them, are ruled out by the limitation of 
space. The same reason explains the fact that 
dramas are omitted, and that the epic element 
also is lacking, except in its minor forms, the 
idyll and the story in verse, and in its lyrical 
modification, the ballad. 

It has seemed best to confine the selections to 
the work of those poets who have already " gone 
over to the majority." It would be difficult, and 
perhaps embarrassing, to choose from the writ- 
ings of the minority who are still living. 

I have thought it wise, also, not to include any 
metrical translations of poetry from other lan- 
guages ; for, however admirable they may be as 
renderings of the originals, they can hardly rank 
as English masterpieces. To deserve that title 
a poem must be conceived and composed, as well 
as written, in the English language. It makes no 
difference where the poet was born, in Scotland 
or England or Ireland or America, if his poetry 
came to him in English, it belongs to English 



General Preface 

literature, the common heritage of all the races 
and tribes which use that noble language as 
their own. 

In the gathering and the sifting of the materials 
for this collection my colleague, Dr. Hardin 
Craig, has rendered much valuable assistance, 
which is here gratefully acknowledged. The se- 
lection of the particular text of the poems, the 
reading of proofs, and the insertion of dates have 
been entrusted to his scholarly care. 

The poems have been grouped on a principle 
of arrangement which seems to me both new and 
good, — the principle of poetic form. Thus in 
one volume we have ballads, in another idylls 
and stories in verse, in another lyrics, in another 
odes, sonnets and epigrams, in another elegies 
and epitaphs. This method of grouping not only 
brings together the poems which are most alike 
in their effect (a matter of the first importance 
to the reader's comfort and pleasure), but also 
serves to show how significant and how vital the 
element of form is in poetry. It is not a mere ac- 
cident or an unimportant adjunct. The spirit and 
the body are the man ; the substance and the form 
are the poem. There is usually more kinship, for 
example, between two ballads dealing with dif- 
ferent subjects, like Thomas the Rhymer and 
Longfellow's Sir Humphrey Gilbert, than there 
is between a ballad and a sonnet dealing with the 
same subject, like Coleridge's Love and one of 
Mrs. Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. 

This arrangement by poetic form has also an- 



General Preface 

other advantage, which I have had in view in 
anticipating a possible use of these volumes in 
colleges and schools and by private students. It 
will enable the reader to follow, without effort, 
the development of the various forms of verse, 
and to see how a ballad or a lyric or a sonnet 
of the sixteenth century differs from one of the 
nineteenth. As far as possible, the date of the 
publication of each poem has been printed with 
the author's name. When the date of composi- 
tion is widely different from that of publication 
it has also been added ; such dates are printed in 
italics. 

Within the main divisions, the poems have been 
grouped in a rather loose way, according to their 
subjects; and within these minor groups again, 
a chronological order has been generally fol- 
lowed. Thus it will be found, unless I am mis- 
taken, that one can read on from poem to poem 
without serious discord, and with a certain con- 
tinuity of interest and feeling. 

The amount of verse taken from the British 
poets is, of course, much greater than that which 
comes from the American poets. The reason is 
plain. In the former case there are four centuries 
of poetry to choose from, and in the latter case 
less than a hundred years. But unless these vol- 
umes altogether fail in their purpose, one result 
of reading them will be a clearer understanding 
and a deeper sense of the vital relationship of that 
which is best, that which is permanent, in British 
and in American verse. They are not sepa- 
viii 



General Preface 

rate growths. They are the two main branches 
of a great and spreading tree. The elder branch 
is far larger, and has borne far more fruit, than 
the younger. But the difference is one of degree 
and not of kind ; and the years to come may 
lessen even that. 

Meantime it is certain that the loftiest thoughts 
and imaginings, the deepest and noblest feelings, 
the finest hopes, and the fairest dreams of all 

" Who speak the tongue 
That Shakspeare spake ; the faith and morals hold 
Which Milton held ", 

are embodied in the masterpieces of English 
poetry, — of which a goodly number are brought 
together in these little volumes. Carry one of 
them in your pocket, and you will not lack good 
comradeship, and elevating discourse, and music 
by the way. 

Henry van Dyke. 



CONTENTS 



General Preface 

Introduction 

Of Love 

The Gay Goshawk 

Young Beichan 

The Bonny Earl of Murray . 

The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 

Hind Horn 

Waly, Waly, up the Bank . . . 

Auld Robin Gray .... 

Black-eyed Susan .... 

The Sailor's Wife .... 

Lochinvar 

The Maid of Neidpath . . 

A Weary Lot is Thine . 

Brignall Banks 

Love 

Glenkindie 

Sir Launcelot and Queen 
Guinevere 

Amy Wentworth .... 

Annabel Lee 

The Blessed Damozel . . 



Lady Anne Lindsay 

Gay .- 

Mickle 



Scott . . 
Scott 

Scott . . 
Scott . . 
Coleridge . 
W. B. Scott 



Tennyson 
Whittier 
Poe 
Rossetti 



Fairyland 

Thomas the Rhymer . . . 

Kemp Owyne 

The Lady of Shalott . . 
The Romance of the Swan's 

Nest 

The Fairies 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci 



Tennyson 



E. B. Browning 

Allingham 

Keats 



Browning . 
Wordsworth 



Contents 

Adventure 

Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale .... 
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne . 

Kinmont Willie 

Chevy Chase 

The Skeleton in Armor . . Longfello' 
" How They Brought the 

Good News from Ghent 

to Aix " 

Hart-Leap Well .... 
The Sea 

Sir Patrick Spens .... 
On the Loss of the Royal 

George 

The Rime of the Ancient 

Mariner 

Ye Mariners of England 
The Landing of the Pilgrim 

Fathers in New England 
The Inchcape Rock . 
The Wreck of the Hes 

perus 

Sir Humphrey Gilbert . 
Herve Riel 



War 

The Battle of Otterburn 

Agincourt 

Boadicea 

Bonny Dundee .... 
The Soldier's Dream . . 

Hohenlinden 

The Battle of the Baltic 
After Blenheim 

Ivry 

Song of Marion's Men . 
A Ballad of the French 

Fleet , 

Carmen Bellicosum . 

Monterey 

The Black Regiment . , 



Cow per 

Coleridge 
Campbell . 

Hemans 
Southey 

Longfellow 
Longfellow 
Browning 



Drayton 
Cowper 

Scott . 

Campbell 

Campbell 

Campbell 

Southey 

Macaulay 

Bryant . 



Longfellow 
McMaster 
Hoffman . 
Baker . 



PAGE 
91 

95 
105 
113 
124 



XU 



Contents 



Barbara Frietchie . . . . 
Incident of the French 

Camp 

The Three Troopers . 

The Charge of the Light 

Brigade 

The Charge of the Heavy 

Brigade at Balaclava . 

The Revenge 

Of Death and Sorrow 

Fair Helen of Kirconnell 
Robin Hood's Death . . 
Bonnie George Campbell 

Lord Randal 

The Wife of Usher's Well 
The Douglas Tragedy 
The Twa Corbies . . . 
The Braes of Yarrow . . 
Thy Braes were Bonny . 
A Lament for Flodden . 
We are Seven .... 

Lucy Gray 

Proud Maisie .... 
Lord Ullin's Daughter . 
The Sands of Dee . . 
The Three Fishers '. . 
The High-tide on the Coast 

of Lincolnshire 
The Execution of Montrose 
The Shameful Death . , 

Rizpah 

The Raven 



Whittier . 

Browning . 
Thornbury 

Tennyson 

Tennyson 
Tennyson 



Logan . 
Jean Elliot 
Wordsworth 
Wordsworth 
Scott . . 
Campbell 
Kingsley . 
Kingsley . 

Ingelow 
Aytoun 
Morris 
Tennyson . 
Poe . . . 



PAGE 
236 



239 

241 



245 
248 

259 
260 
264 
2t>4 

266 
268 



272 

275 
277 



284 

285 
287 

2SS 

289 
296 
303 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The texts used in these volumes follow closely 
what were thought to be the best available mod- 
ern editions ; except that punctuation has been, 
now and then, in cases where no change of mean- 
ing would arise, made to conform to a more 
general standard. The dating of the poems has 
been done from the work of editors and biog- 
raphers, as in a vast majority of cases original 
editions have not been at hand. In the case of 
a few poems the date is that of earliest publica- 
tion in book form. Sometimes the composition 
date has been thought more significant, or found 
more convenient. 

The selections included in these volumes from 
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
Bret Harte, Lucy Larcom, James Russell Lowell, 
H. W. Longfellow, Thomas William Parsons, 
Bayard Taylor, J. G. Whittier, E. R. Sill, and 
Celia Thaxter are published by permission of, 
and by special arrangement with, Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co., authorized publishers of the works 
of those authors. The selections from the poems 
of William Morris are reprinted by permission of 

XV 



Acknowledgment 

Longmans, Green & Co. The two poems by Paul 
Hamilton Hayne are copyrighted, 1882, by D. 
Lothrop & Co. " Anthony and Cleopatra " by 
Gen. Wm. H. L3^tle is published by permission 
of Robert Clarke Co., the publishers of his poems. 
The two poems by Emily Dickinson are reprinted 
by permission of Little, Brown & Co. Charles 
Scribner's Sons, as authorized publishers, have 
granted permission for the republication of 
"Little Boy Blue," " Wynken, Blynken, and 
Nod " from " With Trumpet and Drum " by Eu- 
gene Field ; of " A Ballad of Trees and the Mas- 
ter," " The Stirrup Cup," " Sunrise," " The 
Marshes of Glynn " from " The Poems of Sidney 
Lanier " ; of " It Never Comes Again," " The 
Sky " from " The Poetical Writings of Richard 
Henry Stoddard " ; and of " Requiem," " The 
Whaups," " Youth and Love " from " Poems and 
Ballads " by Robert Louis Stevenson. The selec- 
tions from Matthew Arnold are from the edition 
issued by The Macmillan Company, the author- 
ized publishers of the works of Matthew Arnold. 

H. C. 



BALLADS OLD AND NEW 



INTRODUCTION 
TO THE VOLUME OF BALLADS 

What is a ballad? 

In the strict sense of the word, it ought to 
mean a song set to dance music, — a string of 
verses to accompany the movements of a rustic 
or courtly ballet. But this original meaning was 
soon lost and confused in a wider usage. The 
word was applied to many kinds of poems which 
were current among the people in the fifteenth 
and the sixteenth centuries. Metrical tales of 
love and adventure and tragedy, versified satires 
on the nobility and the clergy, moral exhortations 
and short sermons in rhyme, lyrics in praise of 
a sweetheart or a soldier, — almost any piece of 
poetry that passed from mouth to mouth among 
the minstrels, or was printed on broadside sheets 
and sold by the pedlars, who were the book- 
canvassers of that day, — might be called a " tragi- 
cal ballett," or a " godly ballett," or a " diverting 
ballett," according to the supposed effect upon 
the hearer. The chaplain of Henry VIII quoted 
in one of his sermons, " the ballates off ' Passe 
tyme with goodde cumpanye ' and ' I love un- 
lovydde.' " In the Bishops' Bible the title of 
Solomon's Song is " The Ballet of the Ballets of 
Solomon." 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

No distinction was made, in those early times, 
between narrative ballads and other songs ; nor 
between those which had their anonymous origin 
among the people and those which were care- 
fully wrought out by certain poets. Indeed, the 
term " ballade," so far as it had a technical sense, 
was used to describe one of the most artificial and 
difficult forms of verse, which could be written 
only by a skilled master. 

The attempt to restrict the use of the name 
" ballad " to story-poems which are traditional in 
character and purely popular in origin and form, 
is a somewhat modern invention. Famous col- 
lections of such poems have been made; Percy's 
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Ritson's 
Robin Hood, Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, Motherwell's Minstrelsy Ancient and 
Modern, Child's English and Scottish Popular 
Ballads, and many other books of the same kind, 
are filled with the naive, irregular, graphic, and 
often strangely beautiful narratives in rhyme 
which have been handed down to us without an 
author's name, preserved and transmitted by the 
loving memory of the people. And these, some 
critics say, are the only true ballads, because 
they are not the work of personal poets, but the 
unconscious flowerings of poetry from the com- 
mon heart of man. It seems to me that this effort 
to narrow the meaning of the word is misdi- 
rected, and that the reason which the critics give 
for it begs the whole question. 

The fact that no author's name is attached to 



Introduction 

the rude and vigorous verses of A Gest of Robyn 
Hode, or The Battle of Otterhourne, does not 
prove that they never had an author, but only that 
he has been forgotten. Verses do not come to the 
birth without the aid of some minstrel to give 
them form and set them to music. A community 
never makes a poem. It is a man who makes it. 
The community, if the age is poetical, takes the 
song-story up, and repeats it, in hall and cottage, 
with changes and variations. So it comes to us, 
from a time when books were rare and copyright 
was unknown, in half a dozen different forms, 
and often with great improvements, but with- 
out the name of the original minstrel. This, it 
seems to me, is the true explanation of what is 
called "communal authorship,"— an unseen poet 
singing in obscurity, — his song caught up and 
carried down to us by the love of the people. 
Coleridge was instinctively right when he wrote 
of 

" the bard . . . who made 
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence." 

Moreover, even if we accepted at its face value 
the notion that the primitive ballads were made 
by a whole village, or a county perhaps, or even 
an entire kingdom, rhyming in unconscious uni- 
son, why should we be more narrow and par- 
ticular in our definition of ballads than the very 
people who made them? They were willing to 
admit that King James's The Kingis Quair and 
Lord Dorset's " To all you ladies " were ballads. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

It is hardly likely that the critics will be able 
to confine the use of the word " ballad " to the 
limited sense which some of them have assigned 
to it. Language has a way of escaping from the 
control of the learned and making its own con- 
nections with human life. There are folk-words 
as well as folk-songs. And this very word " bal- 
lad " which we are considering is one of them. It 
has followed its own course in common speech 
and writing. It is no longer applied, it is true, to 
purely lyrical songs, or to hymns, or to didactic 
verse. But it is still used to describe poems, dif- 
fering considerably in form and origin, which 
have three main characteristics in common. 

First, they have a certain simplicity of theme, 
appealing not to reflection or to philosophic 
thought (as an epic or an idyll does), but more 
directly to some strong, common, human feeling 
of wonder, of admiration, or of pity. Second, 
they have an interesting story, clear and vivid, 
either told directly (as in The Bailiff's Daughter), 
or suggested in the background (as in Fair 
Helen). Third, they are free and lyrical in spirit 
and movement, not composed in blank-verse, or 
in complicated stanzas, but in more flowing and 
easy forms. These are the three characteristics 
that have been followed in selecting the ballads in 
this volume. 

I do not suppose that all the good ones are 
here: but I think that all here are good. Some 
of them, perhaps, come very near to the border- 
line of the story in verse, or of the pure lyric: 
6 



Introduction 

just as some of the poems in the second and third 
volumes of this series might possibly be called 
ballads and included here. The affair of classify- 
ing poetry is not like a chemical analysis or a 
land survey. There is always room for a differ- 
ence, and sometimes for a change, of opinion. 

But, upon the whole, I am satisfied that these 
poems represent the mastery of the ballad-form 
and illustrate its history. Ranging from The 
Death of Robin Hood to Rizpah, from Young 
Beichan to Amy Wentworth, from Sir Patrick 
Spens to The Wreck of the Schooner Hesperus, 
they give a rich and splendid picture of the ballad- 
poetry of love, of fairyland, of adventure, of the 
sea, of war, and of death and sorrow. 

H. V. D. 



OF LOVE 



THE GAY GOSHAWK . 

" O WALY, waly, my gay goshawk, 
Gin your feathering be sheen ! " 

" And waly, waly, my master dear, 
Gin ye look pale and lean ! 

" O have ye tint at tournament 5 

Your sword, or yet your spear? 
Or mourn ye for the Southern lass. 
Whom ye may not win near? " 

" I have not tint, at tournament. 

My sword, nor yet my spear; i'-> 

But sair I mourn for my true-love, 
Wi' mony a bitter tear. 

" But weel 's me on ye, my gay goshawk. 
Ye can baith speak and flee ; 
Ye sail carry a letter to my love, ^5 

Bring an answer back to me." 

" But how sail I your true-love find. 
Or how suld I her know? 
I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake. 
An eye that ne'er her saw." 20 

II 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" O weel sail ye my true-love ken, 
Sae sune as ye her see ; 
For of a' the flowers of fair England, 
The fairest flower is she. 

•' The red that 's on my true-love's cheek, ^5 
Is like blood-drops on the snaw ; 
The white, that is on her breast bare, 
Like the down o' the white sea-maw. 

" And even at my love's bour-door 

There grows a flowering birk ; 3o 

And ye maun sit and sing thereon, 
As she gangs to the kirk. 

" And four-and-twenty fair ladies 
Will to the mass repair ; 
But weel may ye my lady ken, 35 

The fairest lady there." 

Lord William has written a love-letter. 
Put it under his pinion gray ; 

And he is awa' to Southern land, 

As fast as wings can gae. 4o 

And even at that lady's hour, 
There grew a flowering birk; 

And he sat down and sung thereon, 
As she gaed to the kirk. 

And weel he kent that lady fair 4S 

Amang her maidens free, 

12 



The Gay Goshawk 

For the flower that springs in May morning 
Was not sae sweet as she. 



And first he sang a low, low note, 
And syne he sang a clear ; 5° 

And aye the o'erword o' the sang 
Was, " Your love can no win here." 

" Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', 
The wine flows you amang. 
While I gang to my shot-window, 55 

And hear yon bonny bird's sang. 

" Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird. 
The sang ye sung yestreen ; 
For weel I ken, by your sweet singing, 
Ye are frae my true-love sen'." 60 

O first he sang a merry sang, 

And syne he sang a grave ; 
And syne he peck'd his feathers gray. 

To her the letter gave. 

" Have there a letter from Lord William ; 65 
He says he 's sent ye three ; 
He canna wait your love langer, 
But for your sake he '11 die." 

" Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, 

And brew his bridal ale; 7o 

And I sail meet him at Mary's kirk, 
Lang, lang ere it be stale." 

13 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

The lady 's gane to her chamber, 
And a moanfu' woman was she, 

As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash, 75 
And were about to die. 



" A boon, a boon, my father dear, 

A boon I beg of thee ! " 
" Ask not that paughty Scottish lord. 

For him you ne'er shall see. 80 

" But, for your honest asking else, 

Weel granted it shall be." 
" Then, gin I die in Southern land. 

In Scotland gar bury me. 

" And the first kirk that ye come to, 85 
Ye'se gar the mass be sung; 
And the next kirk that ye come to, 
Ye'se gar the bells be rung; 

" And when ye come to St. Mary's kirk, 
Ye'se tarry there till night." 90 

And so her father pledged his word, 
And so his promise plight. 

She has ta'en her to her bigly hour, 

As fast as she could fare, 
And she has drank a sleepy draught, 95 

That she had mix'd wi' care. 

And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek, 
That was sae bright of blee ; 

14 



The Gay Goshawk 

And she seemed to be as surely dead 
As any one could be. 



They drapt a drap o' the burning red gowd, 
They drapt it on her chin; 
' And ever alas ! " her mother cried, 
" There is nae life within." 

') 

They drapt a drap o' the burning red 
gowd, 105 

They drapt it on her breast-bane ; 
' Alas ! " her seven bauld brothers said, 
" Our sister 's dead and gane." 

Then up arose her seven brethren, 

And hew'd to her a bier; no 

They hew'd it frae the solid aik, 
Laid it o'er wi' silver clear. 

Then up and gat her seven sisters, 

And sewed to her a kell ; 
And every steek that they pat in, "S 

Sewed to a siller bell. 

The first Scots kirk that they cam to. 
They gar'd the bells be rung; 

The next Scots kirk that they cam to, 
They gar'd the mass be sung. 120 

But when they cam to St. Mary's kirk. 
There stude spearmen all on raw ; 

15 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And up and started Lord William, 
The chieftain amang them a'. 



" Set down, set down the bier," he said ; 125 
" Let me look her upon." 
But as soon as Lord William touched her 
hand. 
Her colour began to come. 

She brightened like the lily-flower, 
Till her pale colour was gone; 130 

With rosy cheek, and ruby lip, 
She smiled her love upon. 

" A morsel of your bread, my lord. 
And one glass of your wine ; 
For I ha'e fasted these three lang days, ^35 
All for your sake and mine. 

" Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld 
brothers, 
Gae hame and blaw your horn! 
I trow you wad ha'e gi'en me the skaith. 
But I 've gi'en you the scorn." 140 

" Ah ! woe to you, you light woman ; 
An ill death may you die ! 
For we left father and mother at hame, 
Breaking their hearts for thee." 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



16 



YOUNG BEICHAN 

In London city was Beichan born, 

He long'd strange countries for to see, 

But he was ta'en by a savage Moor, 

Who handl'd him right cruelly. 4 

For thro' his shoulder he put a bore, 
An' thro' the bore has pitten a tree, 

An' he 's gar'd him draw the carts o' wine, 
Where horse and oxen had wont to be. S 

He 's casten him in a dungeon deep. 
Where he cou'd neither hear nor see; 

He 's shut him up in a prison strong, 

An' he 's handl'd him right cruelly. 12 

The savage Moor had but ae dochter, 

And her name it was Susie Pye, 
And ilka day as she took the air. 

The prison door she passed bye. ^^ 

But it fell ance upon a day. 

As she was walking, she heard him sing; 
She listen'd to his tale of woe, 

A happy day for young Beichan ! 20 

17 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" My hounds they all go masterless, 

My hawks they flee frae tree to tree, 
My youngest brother will heir my lands, 
My native land I '11 never see." 24 

" O were I but the prison-keeper, 
As I 'm a ladie o' hie degree, 
I soon wad set this youth at large, 
And send him to his ain country." 28 

She went away into her chamber. 
All nicht she never closed her ee ; 

And when the morning begoud to dawn. 
At the prison door alane was she. 32 

" O hae ye ony lands or rents, 
Or cities in your ain country, 
Cou'd free you out of prison strong. 

An' cou'd maintain a lady free ? " 3^ 

" O London city is my own, 
An' other cities twa or three, 
Cou'd loose me out o' prison strong. 
An' cou'd maintain a lady free." 40 

O she has bribed her father's men 
Wi' meikle goud and white money, 

She 's gotten the key o' the prison doors, 
And she has set young Beichan free. 44 

She 's gi'n him a loaf o' good white bread, 
But an' a flask o' Spanish wine, 
18 



young Beichan 

An' she bad' him mind on the lady's love 
That sae kindly freed him out o' pine. 48 

Go set your foot on good ship-board, 
An' haste you back to your ain country, 

An' before that seven years has an end, 

Come back again, love, and marry me." 52 

It was long or seven years had an end ; 

She long'd fu' sair her love to see ; 
She 's set her foot on good ship-board, 

An' turn'd her back on her ain country. 56 



She 's sail'd up, so has she doun. 
Till she came to the other side ; 

She 's landed at young Beichan's gates. 
An' I hope this day she sail be his bride. 



60 



Is this young Beichan's gates?" says she, 
" Or is that noble prince within? " 
He 's up the stairs wi' his bonny bride. 

An' mony a lord and lady wi' him." ^4 

O has he ta'en a bonny bride. 

An' has he clean forgotten me ! " 
An' sighing said that gay lady, 
" I wish I were in my ain country." 68 

But she 's pitten her han' in her pocket, 
An' gi'n the porter guineas three ; 

Says, " Take ye that, ye proud porter. 
An' bid the bridegroom speak to me." 72 
19. 



Little Masterpieces of En^^lish Poetry 

O whan the porter came up the stair, 
He 's fa'n low down upon his knee ; 
" Won up, won up, ye proud porter. 

An' what makes a' this courtesy?" 76 

"01 've been porter at your gates 

This mair nor seven years an' three, 
But there is a lady at them now 
The like of whom I never did see. 80 

** For on every finger she has a ring. 
An' on the mid-finger she has three. 
An' there 's as meikle goud aboon her brow 
As would but an earldome o' Ian' to me." 84 

Then up it started young Beichan, 
An' sware so loud by our Lady, 
" It can be nane but Susie Pye, 

That has come o'er the sea to me." 88 

O quickly ran he down the stair, 
O' fifteen steps he has made but three ; 

He 's tane his bonny love in his arms, 

An' a wot he kiss'd her tenderly. 92 

" O hae you tane a bonny bride ? 
An' hae you quite forsaken me ? 
An' hae ye quite forgotten her 

That gae you life and liberty ? " 96 

She 's lookit o'er her left shoulder 
To hide the tears stood in her ee : 



The Bonny Earl of Murray 

Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says, 
" I '11 strive to think nae mair on thee." 10° 



* Take back your daughter, madam," he says, 
" An' a double dowry I '11 gi' her wi' ; 
For I maun marry my first true love, 
That 's done and suffered so much for 
me." 104 

He 's take his bonny love by the han', 

An' led her to yon fountain stane ; 
He 's changed her name frae Susie Pye, 
An' he 's call'd her his bonny love. Lady 

Jane. loS 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 5sA (Gummere's Version). 



THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY 

Ye Highlands and ye Lawlands, 

O where hae ye been ? 
They hae slain the Earl of Murray, 

And they laid him on the green. 

Now wae be to thee, Huntley ! ; 

And wherefore did ye sae? 
I bade you bring him wi' you. 

But forbade you him to slay. 
21 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he rid at the ring ; i 

And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh he might have been a king ! 



He was a braw gallant, 

And he play'd at the ba' ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray 

Was the flower amang them a' ! 

He was a braw gallant, 

And he play'd at the glove ; 
And the bonny Earl of Murray, 

Oh he was the Queen's love ! 

Oh lang will his Lady 

Look o'er the Castle Down, 
Ere she see the Earl of Murray 

Come sounding thro' the town ! 

Child, Pop. Bal, No. 181A. 



THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF 
ISLINGTON 

There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth. 

And he was a squire's son : 
He loved the bailiff's daughter dear, 

That lived in Islington. 



The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 

Yet she was coy and would not believe 5 

That he did love her so, 
No, nor at any time would she 

Any countenance to him show. 

But when his friends did understand 
His fond and foolish mind, *o 

They sent him up to fair London 
An apprentice for to bind. 

And when he had been seven long years, 
And never his love could see : 
" Many a tear have I shed for her sake, »5 

When she little thought of me." 

Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport and play. 
All but the bailiff's daughter dear; 

She secretly stole away. 20 

She pulled off her gown of green, 

And put on ragged attire. 
And to fair London she would go 

Her true love to enquire. 

And as she went along the high road, 25 

The weather being hot and dry, 

She sat her down upon a green bank, 
And her true love came riding by. 

She started up, with a color so red. 
Catching hold of his bridle-rein ; 3o 

23 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said, 
" Will ease me of much pain." 



" Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, 

Pray tell me where you were born." 
"At Islington, kind sir," said she, 35 

" Where I have had many a scorn." 

" I prithee, sweetheart, then tell to me, 
O tell me, whether you know 
The bailiff's daughter of Islington." 
" She is dead, sir, long ago." 4° 

" If she be dead, then take my horse. 
My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some far country, 
Where no man shall me know." 

'' O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, 45 

She standeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead, 
And ready to be thy bride." 

" O farewell grief, and welcome joy. 

Ten thousand times therefore; 5o 

For now I have found mine own true love, 
Whom I thought I should never see more.' 
Percy, Reliques. 



24 



HIND HORN 

" Hind Horn fair, and Hind Horn free, 
O where were you born, in what countrie?" 

" In gude green-wood, there I was born. 
And all my forebears me beforn. 

" O seven years I served the king, 5 

And as for wages, I never gat nane; 

" But ae sight o' his ae daughter. 
And that was thro' an auger-bore. 

" My love ga'e me a siller wand, 
'T was to rule over a' Scotland. ^o 

" And she ga'e me a gay gowd ring, 
The virtue o' 't was above a' thing. 

" ' As lang 's this ring it keeps the hue, 
Ye '11 know I am a lover true : 

■ ' But when the ring turns pale and wan, ^5 

Ye .'11 know I love another man.' " 

He hoist up sails, and awa' sail'd he, 
And sail'd into a far countrie. 

25 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And when he look'd upon his ring. 

He knew she loved another man. 2 



He hoist up sails and home came he, 
Home unto his ain countrie. 

The first he met on his own land, 
It chanc'd to be a beggar man. 

" What news, what news, my gude auld man ? 25 
What news, what news ha'e ye to me ? " 

" Nae news, nae news," said the auld man, 
" The morn 's our queen's wedding day." 

"Will ye lend me your begging weed? 
And I '11 lend you my riding steed." 3o 

" My begging weed will ill suit thee, 
And your riding steed will ill suit me." 

But part be right, and part be wrang, 
Frae the beggar man the cloak he waa. 

" Auld man, come tell to me your leed ; 35 

What news ye gi'e when ye beg your bread." 

" As ye walk up unto the hill. 
Your pike staff ye lend ye till. 

" But whan ye come near by the yett, 
Straight to them ye will upstep. 4o 

26 



Hind Horn 

" Take nane frae Peter, nor frae Paul, 
Nane frae high or low o' them all. 

" And frae them all ye will take nane, 
Until it comes frae the bride's ain hand." 

He took nane frae Peter nor frae Paul, 45 

Nane frae the high nor low o' them all. 

And frae them all he would take nane, 
Until it came frae the bride's ain hand. 

The bride came tripping down the stair, 

The combs o' red gowd in her hair. 5o 

A cup o' red wine in her hand, 

And that she ga'e to the beggar man. 

Out o' the cup he drank the wine, 
And into the cup he dropt the ring. 

" O got ye 't by sea, or got ye 't by land, 55 

Or got ye 't on a drown'd man's hand ? " 

" I got it not by sea, nor got it, by land, 
Nor got I it on a drown'd man's hand. 



" But I got it at my wooing gay, 
And I '11 gi'e 't you on your wedding day. 

" I '11 take the red gowd frae my head, 
And follow you, and beg my bread. 

27 



6o 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

I '11 take the red gowd frae my hair, 
And follow you for evermair." 



Atween the kitchen and the ha', 65 

He loot his cloutie cloak down fa', 

And wi' red gowd shone ower them a', 
And frae the bridegroom the bride he sta'. 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 17H. 



WALY, WALY, UP THE BANK 

[jAMIE DOUGLAS] 

WALY, waly, up the bank. 

And waly, waly, doun the brae, 
And waly, waly, yon burn-side. 
Where I and my love wont to gae ! 

1 lean'd my back unto an aik, 

I thocht it was a trustie tree ; 
But first it bow'd and syne it brak— 
Sae my true love did lichtlie me. 

O waly, waly, gin love be bonnie 
A little time while it is new ! 

But when 't is auld it waxeth cauld, 
And fades awa' like morning dew. 
28 



Waly, Waly, Up the Bank 

O wherefore should I busk my heid, 
Or wherefore should I kame my hair? 

For my true love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never lo'e me mair. i6 



Now Arthur's Seat sail be my bed, 
The sheets sail ne'er be 'filed by me ; 

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink ; 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree? 

gentle Death, when wilt thou come? 

For of my life I am wearie. 24 

'T is not the frost that freezes fell, 
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 

'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry. 

But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 28 

When we cam in by Glasgow toun. 

We were a comely sicht to see ; 
My love was clad in the black velvet, 

And I mysel' in cramasie. 32 

But had I wist, before I kist, 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 'd lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd, 

And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 3^ 

29 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And O ! if my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee ; 
And I mysel' were dead and gane, 

For a maid again I '11 never be. 40 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 204a 



AULD ROBIN GRAY 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye 's 

come hame, 
And a' the warld to rest are gane, 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by 

me. 4 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for 

his bride ; 
But saving ae croun-piece he had naething else 

beside : 
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to 

sea; 
And the croun and the pund — they were baith 

for me. ^ 

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa. 

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was 

stown awa' ; 
My mother she fell sick — and my Jamie at the 

sea — 
And auld Robin Gray came a-courting me. i- 

30 



Auld Robin Gray 

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna 

spin ; 
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna 

win ; 
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in 

his e'e 
Said, " Jennie, for their sakes, will ye no marry 

me ? " 

My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a 

wrack ; 
His ship it was a wrack— Why didna Jamie dee? 
Or why am I spared to cry, Wae 's me ! -o 

My father urged me sair : my mother didna speak ; 
But she look'd in my face' till my heart was like 

to break : 
They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in 

the sea; 
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 24 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
When mournfu" as I sat on the stane at my door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, — for I couldna think 

it he. 
Till he said, " I 'm come hame, love, to marry 

thee." -'8 

sair, sair did we greet, and muckle say of a' ; 

1 gi'ed him but ae kiss, and bade him gang awa' : 

31 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

I wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
For, though my heart is broken, I 'm but young, 
wae 's me ! 32 



I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin ; 
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
But I '11 do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
For auld Robin Gray he is kind to me. 36 

177 1' Lady Anne Lindsay. 



BLACK-EYED SUSAN 

All in the Downs the fleet was moored. 

The streamers waving in the wind. 
When black-eyed Susan came aboard; 
" O, where shall I my true-love find? 
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 
If my sweet William sails among the crew." ^ 

William, who high upon the yard 

Rocked with the billow to and fro. 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard. 

He sighed, and cast his eyes below: 
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing 

hands, 
And quick as lightning on the deck he 

stands. 12 

32 



Black-eyed Susan 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast. 

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 
And drops at once into her nest: — 

The noblest captain in the British fleet 

Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. i8 

O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 

My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 
We only part to meet again. 

Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 

The faithful compass that still points to thee. 24 

Believe not what the landmen say 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: 
They '11 tell thee, sailors, when away. 

In every port a mistress find : 
Yes, yes, believe t-hem when they tell thee so, 
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 3° 

If to fair India's coast we sail, 
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright. 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 

Thus every beauteous object that I view 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely 

Sue. 36 

Though battle call me from thy arms, 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his dear return. 

33 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's 
eye." 42 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word. 

The sails their swelling bosom spread ; 
No longer must she stay aboard : 

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. 
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 
" Adieu ! " she cried ; and waved her lily hand. 48 
1720. John Gay. 



THE SAILOR'S WIFE 

And are ye sure the news is true ? 

And are ye sure he 's weel ? 
Is this a time to think o' wark? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel; 
Is this the time to spin a thread. 

When Colin's at the door? 
Reach down my cloak, I '11 to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 
For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There 's nae luck at a' ; 
There 's little pleasure in the house 

When our gudeman 's awa'. 12 

And gie to me my bigonet. 

My bishop's-satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin 's in the town. 

34 



The Sailor's Wife 

My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 
My stockin's pearly blue ; 

It 's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 
For he 's baith leal and true. 



Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown. 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes. 

Their hose as white as snaw ; 
It 's a' to please my ain gudeman. 

For he 's been long awa'. 28 

There 's twa fat hens upo' the coop 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And spread the table neat and clean, 

Gar ilka thing look braw. 
For wha can tell how Colin fared 

When he was far awa'? 36 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air ; 
His very foot has music in 't 

As he comes up the stair, — 
And will I see his face again? 

And will I hear him speak? 
I 'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I 'm like to greet ! 41 

35 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

If Colin 's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave : 
And gin I live to keep him sae 

I 'm blest aboon the lave : 
And will I see his face again? 

And will I hear him speak? 
I 'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I 'm like to greet. 
For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There 's nae luck at a' ; 
There 's little pleasure in the house 

When our gudeman 's awa'. 56 

1769. W. J. Mickle. 



LOCHINVAR 

LADY heron's SONG 

From Marmion 

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the 

best; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had 

none, 
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knight like the young Lochin- 
var. 6 



Lochinvar 

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for 

stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was 

none; 
But ere he ahghted at Netherby gate 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochin- 
var. ^- 



So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, 

and all : 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his 

sword, — 
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a 

word, — 
Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin- 
var?"- i8 



I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide— 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by 

far. 
That would gladly be bride to the young Loch- 



Zl 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it 
up, 

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the 
cup. 

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to 
sigh, 

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand ere her mother could 
bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young Loch- 
invar. 30 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did 

fume. 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet 

and plume; 
And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were 

better by far 
To have matched our fair cousin with young 

Lochinvar." 36 

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall-door, and the 

chacger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Lochinvar. 42 

38 



The Maid of Neidpath 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the 
Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 
and they ran : 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they 
see. 

So daring in love and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Loch- 
invar? 48 

1808. Sir Walter Scott. 



THE MAID OF NEIDPATH 

O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing; 
And love in life's extremity 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning, 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 

To watch her love's returning. ^ 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 

Her form decayed by pining, 
Till through her wasted hand at night 

You saw the taper shining; 

39 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 

Her maidens thought her dying. i6 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seemed in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch-dog pricked his ear, 

She heard her lover's riding; 
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned. 

She knew, and waved to greet him ; 
And o'er the battlement did bend, 

As on the wing to meet him. 24 

He came— he passed— an heedless gaze. 

As o'er some stranger glancing; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 

Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was- broken. 32 
1806. Sir Walter Scott. 



A WEARY LOT IS THINE 

From Rokeby 

"A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, 
A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 
And press the rue for wine ! 
40 



Brignall Banks 

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew. 
My love! 

No more of me you knew. 

This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore. 
He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 

Said " Adieu for evermore, 
My love! 

And adieu for evermore." 

Sir M' alter Scott. 



BRIGNALL BANKS 

From Rokehy 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 
And Greta woods are green. 

And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer queen. 

And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 
Beneath the turrets high, 

41 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

A maiden on the castle wall 
Was singing merrily, — 
" O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
And Greta woods are green; 
I 'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen." 12 

" If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we 

That dwell by dale and down. 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may. 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, 

As blithe as Queen of May." 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 
* And Greta woods are green ; 
I 'd rather rove with Edmund there 

Than reign our English queen. 24 

" I read you, by your bugle horn, 

And by your palfry good, 

I read you for a ranger sworn 

To keep the king's greenwood." 

** A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 't is at peep of light; 

His blast is heard at merry morn. 

And mine at dead of night." 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 
To reign his Queen of May ! 36 

42 



Brignall Banks 

" With burnished brand and musketoon 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." 
" I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take the spear. 
And O, though Brignall banks be fair, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 48 

" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I '11 die ; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I 'm with my comrades met 

Beneath the greenwood bough, 
What once we were we all forget. 

Nor think what we are now. 
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer queen." 60 

18 1 3. Sir Walter Scott. 



45 



LOVE 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 

And feed his sacred flame. 4 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay. 

Beside the ruined tower. 8 

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 

My own dear Genevieve ! 12 

She leant against the armed man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay, 

Amid the lingering light. ^6 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best, whene'er I sing 

The songs that make her grieve. 20 

44 



Love 

I played a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story— 
An old rude song, that suited well 

That ruin wild and hoary. 24 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace; 
For well she knew, I could not choose 

But gaze upon her face. 28 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 

The Lady of the Land. 32 

I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love, 

Interpreted my own. 36 

She listened with a flitting blush. 

With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 

And she forgave me that I gazed 

Too fondly on her face ! 40 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 44 

That sometimes from the savage den, 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 

45 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And sometimes starting up at once 

In green and sunny glade, — 48 



There came and looked him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 

This miserable Knight ! 52 

And that unknowing what he did, 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ! 5^ 

And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain;— 60 

And that she nursed him in a cave; 
And how his madness went away. 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 

A dying man he lay;— 64 

His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
My faultering voice and pausing harp 

Disturbed her soul with pity ! 68 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 
The music and the doleful tale, 

The rich and balmy eve; 72 

46 



Love 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An iindistinguishable throng, 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 

Subdued and cherished long ! 7<j 

She wept with pity and delight, 

She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 

And like the murmur of a dream, 

I heard her breathe my name. 80 

Her bosom heaved— she stepped aside, 
As conscious of my look she stepped — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye 

She fled to me and wept. 84 

She half enclosed me with her arms. 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
And bending back her head, looked up. 

And gazed upon my face. 88 

'T was partly love, and partly fear. 
And partly 't was a bashful art, 
That I might rather feel, than see. 

The swelling of her heart. 92 

I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 96 

1799. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



47 



GLENKINDIE 

About Glenkindie and his man, 
A false ballant hath long been writ ; 
Some bootless loon had written it, 
Upon a bootless plan : 
But I have found the true at last, 
And here it is, so hold it fast. 
'T was made by a kind damosel 
Who loved him and his man right well. 



Glenkindie, best of harpers, came 

Unbidden to our town ; 
And he was sad, and sad to see, 

For love had worn him down. ^- 

It was love, as all men know, 

The love that brought him down. 

The hopeless love for the king's daughter, 
The dove that heir'd a crown. ^6 

Now he wore not that collar of gold, 

His dress was forest green. 
His wondrous fair and rich mantel 

Had lost its silvery sheen. 20 

48 



Glenkindie 

But still by his side walked Rafe, his boy, 

In goodly cramoisie : 
Of all the boys that ever I saw, 

The goodliest boy was he. 24 

O Rafe the page ! O Rafe the page ! 

Ye stole the heart frae me : 
O Rafe the page ! O Rafe the page ! 

I wonder where ye be ; 
We ne'er may see Glenkindie more, 

But may we never see thee? 30 

Glenkindie came within the hall. 

We set him on the dais. 
And gave him bread, and gave him wine, 

The best in all the place. 34 

We set for him the guests' high chair. 

And spread the naperie : 
Our Dame herself would serve for him, 

And I for Rafe, perdie ! 38 

But down he sat on a low, low stool 

And thrust his long legs out. 
And leant his back to the high chair, 

And turn'd his harp about. 42 

He turn'd it round, he strok'd the strings. 

He touch'd each tirling-pin. 
He put his mouth to the sounding-board 

And breath'd his breath therein. 46 

49 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And Rafe sat over against his face, 

And look'd at him wistfullie : 
I almost grat ere he began, 

They were so sad to see, so 

The very first stroke he strack that day 

We all came crowding near ; 
And the second stroke he strack that day 

We all were smit with fear. 54 

The third stroke that he strack that day 

Full fain we were to cry ; 
The fourth stroke that he strack that day 

We thought that we would die. 58 

No tongue can tell how sweet it was. 

How far and yet how near, 
We saw the saints in Paradise, 

And bairnies on their bier. 62 

And our sweet Dame saw her good lord — 

She told me privilie — 
She saw him as she saw him last, 

On his ship upon the sea. 66 

Anon he laid his little harp by. 

He shut his wondrous eyes ; 
We stood a long time like dumb things. 

Stood in a dumb surprise. 7° 

Then all at once we left that trance. 
And shouted where we stood ; 
SO 



Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 

We clasp'd each other's hands and vow'd 
We would be wise and good. "4 

Soon he rose up and Rafe rose too, 
He drank wine and broke bread ; 

He clasp'd his hands with our trembling 
Dame, 
But never a word he said. 

They went,— Alack and lack-a-day ! 

They went the way they came. . 80 

I follow'd them all down the floor, 
And oh but I had drouth 
To touch his cheek, to touch his hand, 
To kiss Rafe's velvet mouth ! • S4 

But I knew such was not for me. 

They went straight from the door ; 
We saw them fade within the mist, 

And never saw them more. ^^ 

jgg,. William Bell Scott. 



SIR LAUNCELOT AND QUEEN 
GUINEVERE 

Like souls that balance joy and pain. 
With tears and smiles from heaven again 
The maiden Spring upon the plain 
Came in a sun-lit fall of rain. 
In crystal vapour everywhere 

51 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between, 
And far, in forest-deeps unseen, 
The topmost elm-tree gather'd green 

From draughts of balmy air, 9 

Sometimes the linnet piped his song: 
Sometimes the throstle whistled strong: 
Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along, 
Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong: 

By grassy capes with fuller sound 
In curves the yellowing river ran. 
And drooping chestnut-buds began 
To spread into the perfect fan, 

Above the teeming ground. i8 

Then, in the boyhood of the year, 
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere 
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer, 
With blissful treble ringing clear. 

She seem'd a part of joyous Spring: 
A gown of grass-green silk she wore. 
Buckled with golden clasps before ; 
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore 

Closed in a golden ring. 27 

Now on some twisted ivy-net, 

Now by some tinkling rivulet, 

In mosses mixt with violet 

Her cream-white mule his pastern set : 

And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains 
Than she whose elfin prancer springs 
By night to eery warblings, 
52 



Amy Wentworth 

When all the glimmering moorland rings 
With jingling bridle-reins. 36 

As fast she fled thro' sun and shade, 
The happy winds upon her play'd, 
Blowing the ringlet from the braid : 
She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd 

The rein with dainty finger-tips, 
A man had given all other bliss, 
And all his worldly worth for this, 
To waste his whole heart in one kiss 

Upon her perfect lips. 45 

1842. Lord Tennyson. 



AMY WENTWORTH 

Her fingers shame the ivory keys 
They dance so light along; 

The bloom upon her parted lips 
Is sweeter than the song. 

O perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles ! 

Her thoughts are not of thee ; 
She better loves the salted wind, 

The voices of the sea. 

Her heart is like an outbound ship 
That at its anchor swings ; 

The murmur of the stranded shell 
Is in the song she sings. 

53 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry- 
She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise. 

But dreams the while of one 
Who watches from his sea-blown deck 

The icebergs in the sun. i^ 

She questions all the winds that blow, 

And every fog-wreath dim, 
And bids the sea-birds flying north 

Bear messages to him. -20 

She speeds them with the thanks of men 

He perilled life to save. 
And grateful prayers like holy oil 

To smooth for him the wave. 2+ 

Brown Viking of the fishing-smack ! 

Fair toast of all the town ! — 
The skipper's jerkin ill beseems 

The lady's silken gown ! 28 

But ne'er shall Amy Wentworth wear 

For him the blush of shame 
Who dares to set his manly gifts 

Against her ancient name. 32- 

The stream is brightest at its spring. 

And blood is not like wine ; 
Nor honored less than he who heirs 

Is he who founds a line. 36 

Full lightly shall the prize be won, 
If love be Fortune's spur; 

54 



Amy Wentworth 

And never maiden stoops to him 

Who lifts himself to her, 40 



Her home is brave in JafFrey Street, 

With stately stairways worn 
By feet of old Colonial knights 

And ladies gentle-born. 44 

Still green about its ample porch 

The English ivy twines, 
Trained back to show in English oak 

The herald's carven signs. 4^ 

And on her, from the wainscot old. 

Ancestral faces frown,— 
And this has worn the soldier's sword, 

And that the judge's gown. 52 

But, strong of will and proud as they. 

She walks the gallery floor 
As if she trod on sailor's deck 

By stormy Labrador ! 5^ 

The sweetbrier blooms on Kittery-si^e, 

And green are Elliot's bowers; 
Her garden is the pebbled beach, 

The mosses are her flowers. 60 

She looks across the harbor-bar 

To see the white gulls fly ; 
His greeting from the Northern sea 

Is in their clanging cry. 64 

55 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

She hums a song, and dreams that he, 

As in its romance old, 
Shall homeward ride with silken sails 

And masts of beaten gold ! 68 

Oh, rank is good, and gold is fair. 

And high and low mate ill ; 
But love has never known a law 

Beyond its own sweet will ! 72 

1862. John Greenleaf Whittier. 



ANNABEL LEE 

It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea. 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 6 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea : 
But we loved with a love that was more than 
love — 

I and my Annabel Lee ; 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 12 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 
In this kingdom by the sea, 
56 



Annabel Lee 

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her high-born kinsman came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 20 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me— 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. ^6 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we — 

Of many far wiser than we— 
And neither the angels in heaven above. 

Nor the demons down under the sea. 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 33 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me 
dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my 
bride. 
In the sepulchre there by the sea. 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 41 

1849. Edgar Allan Poe. 

57 



THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 

The blessed Damozel lean'd out 

From the gold bar of Heaven : 
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much 

Than a deep water, even. 
She had three lilies in her hand, 

And the stars in her hair were seven. 6 

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 

No wrought flowers did adorn. 
But a white rose of Mary's gift 

On the neck meetly worn ; 
And her hair, lying down her back, 

Was yellow like ripe corn. ^^ 

Herseem'd she scarce had been a day 

One of God's choristers ; 
The wonder was not yet quite gone 

From that still look of hers ; 
Albeit, to them she left, her day 

Had counted as ten years. ^^ 

(To one it is ten years of years: 
. . . Yet now, here in this place, 

Surely she lean'd o'er me, — her hair 
Fell all about my face. . . . 
58 



The Blessed Damozel 

Nothing : the Autumn-fall of leaves. 

The whole year sets apace.) 24 



It was the terrace of God's house 

That she was standing on, — 
By God built over the sheer depth 

In which Space is begun ; 
So high, that looking downward thence, 

She scarce could see the sun. 30 

It lies from Heaven across the flood 

Of ether, as a bridge. 
Beneath, the tides of day and night 

With flame and blackness ridge 
The void, as low as where this earth 

Spins like a fretful midge. 36 

But in those tracts, with her, it was 

The peace of utter light 
And silence. For no breeze may stir 

Along the steady flight 
Of seraphim ; no echo there, 

Beyond all depth or height. 42 

Heard hardly, some of her new friends, 

Playing at holy games. 
Spake, gentle-m<3uth'd, among themselves, 

Their virginal chaste names ; 
And the souls, mounting up to God, 

Went by her like thin flames. 48 

59 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd 

Into the vast waste calm ; 
Till her bosom's pressure must have made 

The bar she lean'd on warm, 
And the lilies lay as if asleep 

Along her bended arm. 54 

From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw 

Time, like a pulse, shake fierce 
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove, 

In that steep gulf, to pierce 
The swarm : and then she spake, as when 

The stars sang in their spheres. 60 

" I wish that he were come to me, 

For he will come," she said. 
" Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven ? 

On earth, has he not pray'd? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 

And shall I feel afraid? 66 

" When round his head the aureole clings, 
And he is clothed in white. 
I '11 take his hand, and go with him 

To the deep wells of light, 
And we will step down as to a stream 

And bathe there in God's sight. T^ 

" We two will stand beside that shrine, 
Occult, withheld, untrod, 
Whose lamps tremble continually 
With prayer sent up to God ; 
60 



The Blessed Damozel 

And where each need, reveal'd, expects 

Its patient period. 78 



" We two will lie i' the shadow of 

That living mystic tree 
Within whose secret growth the Dove 

Sometimes is felt to be, 
While every leaf that His plumes touch 

Saith His name audibly. 8-+ 

"And I myself will teach to him, — 

I myself, lying so, — 
The songs I sing here ; which his mouth 

Shall pause in, hush'd and slow. 
Finding some knowledge at each pause, 

And some new thing to know." 9° 

(Alas ! to her wise simple mind 
These things were all but known 

Before: they trembled on her sense, — 
Her voice had caught their tone. 

Alas for lonely Heaven ! Alas 

For life wrung out alone ! 96 

Alas, and though the end were reach'd? . . . 

Was thy part understood 
Or borne in trust ? And for her sake 

Shall this too be found good? — 
May the close lips that knew not prayer 

Praise ever, though they would?) ^°^ 

61 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" We two," she said, " will seek the groves 

Where the lady Mary is, 
With her five handmaidens, whose names 

Are five sweet symphonies: — 
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 

Margaret and Rosalys. io» 

" Circle-wise sit they, with bound locks 

And bosoms covered ; 
Into the fine cloth, white like flame. 

Weaving the golden thread. 
To fashion the birth-robes for them 

Who are just born, being dead. "4 

" He shall fear haply, and be dumb. 

Then I will lay my cheek 
To his, and tell about our love. 

Not once abash'd or weak: 
And the dear Mother will approve 

My pride, and let me speak. i^o 

" Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, 

To Him round whom all souls 
Kneel — the unnumber'd solemn heads 

Bow'd with their aureoles : 
And Angels, meeting us, shall sing 

To their citherns and citoles. ^-26 

" There will I ask of Christ the Lord 
Thus much for him and me: — 
To have more blessing thin on earth 
In nowise ; but to be 
62 



The Blessed Damozel 

As then we were, — being as then 

At peace. Yea, verily. 132 

" Yea, verily ; when he is come 
We will do thus and thus : 
Till this my vigil seem quite strange 

And almost fabulous ; 
We two will live at once, one life ; 

And peace shall be with us." 138 

She gazed, and listened, and then said. 
Less sad of speech than mild, — 
" All this is when he comes." She ceased : 
The light thrill'd past her, fill'd 

With Angels, in strong level lapse. 

Her eyes pray'd, and she smiled. ^44 

(I saw her smile.) But soon their flight 
Was vague 'mid the poised spheres. 

And then she cast her arms along 
The golden barriers, 

And laid her face between her hands. 

And wept. (I heard her tears.) ^so 

1850. Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 



63 



FAIRYLAND 



THOMAS THE RHYMER 

True Thomas lay on Hiintlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright 

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 4 

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk, 

Her mantle o' the velvet fine ; 
At ilka tett o' her horse's mane, 

Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 8 

True Thomas, he pu'd aff his cap, 
And louted low down on his knee : 
" Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven ! 

For thy peer on earth could never be." ^^ 

" O no, O no, Thomas," she said, 
" That name does not belang to me ; 
I 'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland, 

That am hither come to visit thee. ^^ 

" Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 
" Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 

Sure of your bodie I will be." -o 

^7 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

That weird shall never daunten me." 
Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 24 



" Now ye maun go wi' me," she said, 
" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years, 
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 28 

She 's mounted on her milk-white steed, 
She 's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 

And aye, whene'er her bridle rang, 
The steed gaed swifter than the wind. 32 

O they rade on, and farther on. 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind; 

Until they reach'd a desert wide, 

And living land was left behind. 3^ 

" Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee ; 
Abide ye there a little space. 

And I will show you ferlies three. 40 

" O see ye not yon narrow road. 

So thick beset wi' thorns and briers? 
That is the path of righteousness. 

Though after it but few inquires. 44 

" And see ye not yon braid, braid road, 
That lies across the lily leven? 
68 



Thomas the Rhymer 

That is the path of wickedness, 
Though some call it the road to 
Heaven. 48 

And see ye not yon bonny road 
That winds about the fernie brae? 

That is the road to fair Elfland, 

Where thou and I this night maun gae. 52 

But, Thomas, ye sail baud your tongue, 

Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For speak ye word in Elfiyn-land, 

Ye '11 ne'er win back to your ain coun- 
trie." 56 



O they rade on, and farther on. 

And they waded rivers abune the knee 

And they saw neither sun nor moon. 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 



60 



It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae 
sternlight, 
They waded thro' red blude to the knee ; 
For a' the blude that 's shed on the earth 
Rins through the springs o' that coun- 
trie. 64 

Syne they came on to a garden green, 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree : 
" Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 
It will give thee the tongue that can 
never lie." 68 

69 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas he 
said ; 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 
I neither dought to buy or sell 

At fair or tryst where I might be. 72 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye ! " — 
" Now baud thy peace, Thomas," she said, 
" For as I say, so must it be." 76 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
And a pair of shoon of the velvet green ; 

And till seven years were gane and past. 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 80 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord- 



KEMP OWYNE 

Her mother died when she was young. 

Which gave her cause to make great moan ; 
Her father married the warst woman 

That ever lived in Christendom. 

She served her with foot and hand, ! 

In everything that she could dee. 
Till once, in an unlucky time. 

She threw her in o'er Craigy's sea. 

Says, " Lie you there, dove Isabel, 
And all my sorrows lie with thee; i< 

70 



Kemp Owyne 

Till Kemp Owyne come o'er the sea, 
And borrow you with kisses three, 

Let all the warld do what they will, 
Oh, borrowed shall you never be ! " 

Her breath grew Strang, her hair grew lang, ^5 
And twisted thrice about the tree, 

And all the people, far and near, 

Thought that a savage beast was she. 

These news did come to Kemp Owyne, 

Where he lived, far beyond the sea ; ^o 

He hasted him to Craigy's sea. 
And on the savage beast looked he. 

Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang. 

And twisted was about the tree. 
And with a swing she came about : 25 

" Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. 

Here is a ro^^al belt," she cried, 
" That I have found in the green sea ; 
And while your body it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be ; 3o 

But if you touch me, tail or fin, 

I vow my belt your death shall be." 

He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 

The royal belt he brought him wi' ; 

Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang, 35 
And twisted twice about the tree, 
71 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And with a swing she came about : 
" Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. 



" Here is a royal ring," she said, 

" That I have found in the green sea ; 4o 

And while your finger it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be ; 
But if you touch me, tail or fin, 

I swear my ring your death shall be." 

He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 45 

The royal ring he brought him wi' ; 

Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang, 
And twisted ance about the tree. 

And with a swing she came about : 

" Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. so 

" Here is a royal brand," she said, 
" That I have found in the green sea ; 
And while your body it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be ; 
But if you touch me, tail or fin, ss 

I swear my brand your death shall be." 

He stepped in, gave her a kiss. 

The royal brand he brought him wi' ; 

Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, 
And twisted nane about the tree, 60 

And smilingly she came about. 
As fair a woman as fair could be. 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 3i'A. 



72 



THE LADY OF SHALOTT 

PART I 

On either side the river lie 
Long fields of barley and of rye. 
That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; 
And thro' the field the road runs by 

To many-tower'd Camelot ; 
And up and down the people go, 
Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below, 

The island of Shalott. 9 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
Little breezes dusk and shiver 
Thro' the wave that runs for ever 
By the island in the river 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gra}^ towers, 
Overlook a space of flowers, 
And the silent isle imbowers 

The Lady of Shalott. i8 

By the margin, willow-veil'd. 
Slide the heavy barges trail'd 

75 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

By slow horses ; and unhail'd 
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd 

Skimming down to Camelot : 
But who hath seen her wave her hand? 
Or at the casement seen her stand? 
Or is she known in all the land, 

The Lady of Shalott? 27 

Only reapers, reaping early 
In among the bearded barley. 
Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
From the river winding clearly, 

Down to tower'd Camelot : 
And by the moon the reaper weary, 
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
Listening, whispers " 'T is the fairy 

Lady of Shalott." 36 

PART II 

There she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colours gay. 
She has heard a whisper say, 
A curse is on her if she stay 

To look down to Camelot. 
She knows not what the curse may be, 
And so she weaveth steadily, 
And little other care hath she. 

The Lady of Shalott. . 4S 

And moving thro' a mirror clear 
That hangs before her all the year, 

74 



The Lady of Shalott 

Shadows of the world appear. 
There she sees the highway near 

Winding down to Camelot : 
There the river eddy whirls, 
And there the surly village-churls, 
And the red cloaks of market-girls, 

Pass onward from Shalott, 54 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
An abbot on an ambling pad, 
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. 
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad. 

Goes by to tower'd Camelot : 
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 
The knights come riding two and two: 
She hath no loyal knight and true, 

The Lady of Shalott. 63 

But in her web she still delights 
To weave the mirror's magic sights. 
For often thro' the silent nights 
A funeral, with plumes and lights 

And music, went to Camelot : 
Or when the moon was overhead. 
Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
I am half sick of shadows," said 

The Lady of Shalott. 7^ 

PART III 

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 
He rode between the barley-sheaves, 

75 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
To a lady in his shield, 
That sparkled on the yellow field, 

Beside remote Shalott. 8t 

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 
Like to some branch of stars we see 
Hung in the golden Galaxy. 
The bridle bells rang merrily 

As he rode down to Camelot : 
And from his blazon'd baldric slung 
A mighty silver bugle hung. 
And as he rode his armour rung, 

Beside remote Shalott. 9o 

All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, 
The helmet and the helmet-feather 
Burn'd like one burning flame together, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
As often thro' the purple night, 
Below the starry clusters bright. 
Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 

Moves over still Shalott. 99 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd : 
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; 
From underneath his helmet flow'd 
His coal-black curls as on he rode. 
As he rode down to Camelot. 
76 



The Lady of Shalott 

From the bank and from the river 
He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 
" Tirra lirra," by the river 

Sang Sir Lancelot. loS 

She left the web, she left the loom, 
She made three paces thro' the room, 
She saw the water-lily bloom, 
She saw the helmet and the plnme, 

She look'd down to Camelot. 
Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
The mirror crack'd from side to side ; 
" The curse is come upon me," cried 

The Lady of Shalott. "7 

PART IV 

In the stormy east-wind straining, 
The pale yellow woods were waning, 
The broad stream in his banks complaining, 
Heavily the low sky raining 

Over tower'd Camelot ; 
Down she came and found a boat 
Beneath a willow left afloat, 
And round about the prow she wrote 

The Lady of Shalott ^-^ 

And down the river's dim expanse 
Like some bold seer in a trance. 
Seeing all his own mischance— 
With a glassy countenance 

Did she look to Camelot. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And at the closing of the day- 
She loosed the chain, and down she lay; 
The broad stream bore her far away, 

The Lady of Shalott. U5 



Lying, robed in snowy white 
That loosely flew to left and right — 
The leaves upon her falling light — 
Thro' the noises of the night 

She floated down to Camelot : 
And as the boat-head wound along 
The willowy hills and fields among, 
They heard her singing her last song, 

The Lady of Shalott. ^44 

Heard a carol, mournful, holy, 
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly. 
Till her blood was frozen slowly 
And her eyes were darken'd wholly 

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. 
For ere she reach'd upon the tide 
The first house by the water-side, 
Singing in her song she died, 

The Lady of Shalott. i53 

Under tower and balcony. 
By garden-wall and gallery, 
A gleaming shape she floated by, 
Dead-pale between the houses high, 
Silent into Camelot. 



The Romance of the Swan's Nest 

Out upon the wharfs they came, 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 
And round the prow they read her name, 
The Lady of Shalott. 162 

Who is this? and what is here? 
And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer ; 
And they cross'd themselves for fear, 

All the knights at Camelot : 
But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
He said, " She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercy lend her grace. 

The Lady of Shalott." 171 

1833. 1842. Lord Tennyson. 



THE ROMANCE OF THE 
SWAN'S NEST 

" So the dreams depart, 
So the fading phantoms flee, 
And the sharp reality 
Now must act its part." 

Westwood's Beads from a Rosary. 

Little Ellie sits alone 
'Mid the beeches of a meadow, 

By a stream-side on the grass, 

And the trees are showering down 
Doubles of their leaves in shadow 

On her shining hair and face. 

79 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

She has thrown her bonnet by, 

And her feet she has been dipping 

In the shallow waters flow : 

Now she holds them nakedly ' 

In her hands, all sleek and dripping, 

While she rocketh to and fro. 



Little Ellie sits alone, 

And the smile she softly uses 
Fills the silence like a speech. 
While she thinks what shall be done. 

And the sweetest pleasure chooses 
For her future within reach. 

Little Ellie in her smile 
Chooses — " I will have a lover 

Riding on a steed of steeds : 

He shall love me without guile, 
And to him I will discover 

The swan's nest among the reeds. 

And the steed shall be red-roan, 
And the lover shall be noble. 

With an eye that takes the breath: 

And the lute he plays upon 
Shall strike ladies into trouble, 

As his sword strikes men to death. 



And the steed it shall be shod 
All in silver, housed in azure, 
80 



The Romance of the Swan's Nest 

And ^he mane shall swim the wind ; 
And the hoofs along the sod 

Shall flash onward and keep measure, 35 
Till the shepherds look behind. 

" But my lover will not prize 
All the glory that he rides in, 
When he gazes in my face: 
He will say, * O Love, thine eyes 4o 

Build the shrine my soul abides in, 
And I kneel here for thy grace ! ' 

" Then, ay, then he shall kneel low, 
With the red-roan steed anear him 

Which shall seem to understand, 45 

Till I answer, ' Rise and go ! 

For the world must love and fear him 

Whom I gift with heart and hand.' 

" Then he will arise so pale, 

I shall feel my own lips tremble so 

With a yes I must not say, 
Nathless maiden-brave, ' Farewell,' 

I will utter, and dissemble — 
* Light to-morrow with to-day ! ' 

"Then he'll ride among the hills 55 

To the wide world past the river, 
There to put away all wrong ; 
To make straight distorted wills, 
And to empty the broad quiver 
Which the wicked bear along. 6o 

8i 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Three times shall a young foot-page 

Swim the stream and climb the mountain 
And kneel down beside my feet — 
' Lo, my master sends this gage, 

Lady, for thy pity's counting ! 65 

What wilt thou exchange for it ? ' 



" And the first time I will send 
A white rosebud for a guerdon, 

And the second time, a glove ; 

But the third time — I may bend ?"* 

From my pride, and answer — ' Pardon, 

If he comes to take my love.' 

" Then the young foot-page will run. 
Then my lover will ride faster, 
Till he kneeleth at my knee : 75 

' I am a duke's eldest son. 

Thousand serfs do call me master, 
But, O Love, I love but thee! ' 

" He will kiss me on the mouth 

Then, and lead me as a lover 80 

Through the crowds that praise his deeds ; 
And, when soul-tied by one troth. 

Unto him I will discover 
That swan's nest among the reeds." 

Little Ellie, with her smile 85 

Not yet ended, rose up gaily, 
82 



The Fairies 

Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, 
And went homeward, round a mile. 

Just to see, as slie did daily, 
What more eggs were with the two. 9^ 

Pushing through the elm-tree copse, 
Winding up the stream, light-hearted. 

Where the osier pathway leads. 

Past the boughs she stoops — and stops. 
Lo, the wild swan had deserted, 95 

And a rat had gnawed the reeds ! 

Ellie went home sad and slow. 

If she found the lover ever, 
With his red-roan steed of steeds. 
Sooth I know not; but I know ^ ^^'^ 

She could never show him — never, 
That swan's nest among the reeds ! 
1844. Elizabeth Barrett Brozvning. 



THE FAIRIES 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We dare n't go a-hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap, 

And white owl's feather! 

83 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Down along the rocky shore 

Some make their home, 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam ; 
Some in the reeds 

Of the black mountain-lake, 
With frogs for their watch-dogs, 

All night awake. ^6 



High on the hill-top 

The old King sits; 
He is now so old and gray 

He's nigh lost his "wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses, 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Rosses ; 
Or going up with music 

On cold starry nights, 
To sup with the Queen 

Of the gay Northern Lights. ^8 



They stole little Bridget 

For seven years long; 
When she came down again 

Her friends were all gone. 
They took her lightly back, 

Between the night and morrow, 
They thought that she was fast asleep, 

But she was dead with sorrow. 

84 



La Belle Dame Sans Merci 

They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lakes, 
On a bed of flag-leaves, 

Watching till she wakes. 4o 

By the craggy hill-side, 

Through the mosses bare, 
They have planted thorn-trees 

For pleasure here and there. 
Is any man so daring 

As dig them up in spite, 
He shall find their sharpest thorns 

In his bed at night. 43 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen, 
We dare n't go a-hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk, 

Trooping all together ; 
Green jacket, red cap, 

And white owl's feather! 5$ 

1877. William Allingham. 



LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 

Alone and palely loitering? 
The sedge has wither'd from the lake. 

And no birds sing. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 

So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel's granary is full, 

And the harvest 's done. 



I see a lily on thy brow 

With anguish moist and fever dew, 
And on thy cheeks a fading rose 

Fast withereth too. 



I met a lady in the meads. 

Full beautiful — a faery's child, 
Her hair was long, her foot was light. 

And her eyes were wild. i6 

I made a garland for her head. 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 
She look'd at me as she did love, 

And made sweet moan. 20 



I set her on my pacing steed, 
And nothing else saw all day long. 

For sidelong would she bend, and sing 

A faery song. 24 



She found me roots of relish sweet, 
And honey wild, and manna dew, 
And sure in language strange she said- 
" I love thee true." 

86 



La Belle Dame Sans Merci 

She took me to her elfin grot, 

And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, 
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 

With kisses four. 3^ 

And there she lulled me asleep, 
And there I dream'd — Ah ! woe betide 

The latest dream I ever dream'd 

On the cold hill's side. 3<i 

I saw pale kings and princes too, 

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 

They cried — " La Belle Dame sans Merci 
Hath thee in thrall ! " 40 

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam, 
With horrid warning gaped wide, 

And I awoke and found me here, 

On the cold hill's side. 44 

And this is why I sojourn here. 

Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake 

And no birds sing. 48 

20. John Keats. 



87 



ADVENTURE 



ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE 

Come, listen to me, you gallants so free, 
All you that loves mirth for to hear, 

And I will you tell of a bold outlaw. 
That lived in Nottinghamshire, (bis) 4 

As Robin Hood in the forest stood, 

All under the greenwood tree, 
There was he ware of a brave young man, 

As fine as fine might be. ^ 

The youngster was clad in scarlet red, 

In scarlet fine and gay ; 
And he did frisk it over the plain, 

And chanted a roundelay. 12 

As Robin Hood next morning stood 

Amongst the leaves so gay. 
There did he espy the same young man 

Come drooping along the way. ^5 

The scarlet he wore the day before 

It was clean cast away ; 
And every step he fetched a sigh, 
" Alack and well-a-day ! " 20 

91 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry- 
Then stepped forth brave Little John, 

And Nick, the miller's son ; 
Which made the young man bend his bow, 

Whenas he see them come. 24 



" Stand off ! stand off ! " the young man said, 

" What is your will with me? " 
" You must come before our master straight, 
Under yon greenwood tree.'' -8 

And when he came bold Robin before. 
Robin asked him courteously, 
" O hast thou any money to spare 

For my merry men and me ? " 3-s 

" I have no money," the young man said, 
" But five shillings and a ring; 
And that I have kept this seven long years. 
To have it at my wedding. 36 

" Yesterday I should have married a maid. 
But she is now from me ta'en, 
And chosen to be an old knight's delight. 
Whereby my poor heart is slain." 40 

"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood, 

" Come tell me without awy fail." 
" By the faith of my body," then said the young 
man, 
" My name it is Allen-a-Dale." 44 

92 



Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale 

What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, 
" In ready gold or fee, 
To help thee to thy true-love again, 
And deliver her unto thee?" 48 



I have no money," then quoth the young man, 
" No ready gold nor fee, 
But I will swear upon a book 
Thy true servant for to be." 52 

How many miles is it to thy true-love? 

Come tell me without any guile." 
By the faith of my body," then said the young 

man, 
" It is but five little mile." S6 

Then Robin he hasted over the plain, 

He did neither stint nor lin, 
Until he came unto the church 

Where Allen should keep his wedding. 69 

What dost thou do here? " the bishop he said, 
" I prithee now to tell me." 
I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, 
" And the best in the north country." 64 

O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said, 
" That music best pleaseth me." 
You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood, 
, " Till the bride and bridegroom I see." ^^ 

93 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

With that came in a wealthy knight, 
Which was both grave and old ; 

And after him a finikin lass, 

Did shine like glistering gold. 7 



" This is no fit match," quoth bold Robin 
Hood, 
" That you do seem to make here ; 
For since we are come unto the church, 
The bride shall chuse her own dear." 7^ 

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, 

And blew blasts two or three ; 
When four-and-twenty bowmen bold 

Came leaping over the lea. 80 

And when they came into the churchyard. 

Marching all on a row. 
The very first man Was Allen-a-Dale, 

To give bold Robin his bow. 84 

" This is thy true-love," Robin he said, 
" Young Allen, as I hear say ; 
And you shall be married at this same time, 
Before we depart away." 88 

" That shall not be," the bishop he said, 
" For thy word shall not stand ; 
They shall be three times asked in the church. 
As the law is of our land." 9^ 

94 



Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 

Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat, 
And put it upon Little John ; 
" By the faith of my body,"' then Robin said, 
*' This cloth doth make thee a man." 96 



When Little John went into the quire, 

The people began for to laugh ; 
He asked them seven times in the church, 

Lest three times should not be enough. 100 

Who gives me this maid?" then said Little 
John, 

Quoth Robin, " That do I ; 
And he that doth take her from Allen-a-Dale, 

Full dearly he shall her buy." 104 

And thus, having ended the merry wedding, 
The bride looked as fresh as a queen ; 

And so they returned to the merry greenwood, 
Amongst the leaves so green. 108 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 138. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF 
GISBORNE 

When shales been sheen, and shradds full fair, 

And leaves both large and long. 
It is merry, walking in the fair forest, 

To hear the small birds' song. 

95 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

The woodweete sang and would not cease .' 

Amongst the leaves o' lyne ; 
[So loud, he wakened Robin Hood, 

In the greenwood where he lay. 

" Now by my fay," said jolly Robin, 

" A sweven I had this night ;] u 

And it is by two wight yeomen, 
By dear God that I mean : 

' Methought they did me beat and bind, 

And took my bow me fro" : 
If I be Robin alive in this land, i5 

I '11 be wrocken on both them two." 

' Swevens are swift, master," quoth John, 
" As the wind that blows o'er a hill ; 
For if it be never so loud this night, 
To-morrow it may be still." 20 

' Busk ye, bown ye, my merry men all ! 
For John shall go with me; 
For I '11 go seek yond wight yeomen 
In greenwood where they be." 

They cast on their gown of green; 25 

A-shooting gone are they, 
Until they came to the merry greenwood 

Where they had gladdest be ; 
There were they ware of [a] wight yeoman; 

His body leaned to a tree, 30 

96 



Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side, 

Had been many a man's bane, 
And he was clad in his capul hide, 

Top and tail and mane. 

' Stand you still, master," quoth Little John, 35 
" Under this trusty tree. 
And I will go to yond wight yeoman 
To know his meaning truly." 

' A, John ! by me thou sets no store, 

And that 's a farly thing ; 40 

How oft send I my men before, 

And tarry myself behind? 

It is no cunning a knave to ken, 

An a man but hear him speak ; 
An it were not for bursting of my bow, 45 

John, I would thy head break." 

But often words they breeden bale ; 

That parted Robin and John ; 
John is gone to Barnesdale, 

The gates he knows each one. 50 

And when he came to Barnesdale, 

Great heaviness there he had ; 
He found two of his own fellows 

Were slain both in a slade, 

And Scarlet afoot flying was 55 

Over stocks and stone, 

97 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

For the sheriff with seven score men 
Fast after him is gone. 

" Yet one shot I '11 shoot," says Little John, 
" With Christ his might and main ; 60 

I '11 make yond fellow that flies so fast 
To be both glad and fain." 

John bent up a good yew bow, 

And fettled him to shoot ; 
The bow was made of a tender bough, ^5 

And fell down to his foot. 

" Woe worth thee, wicked wood ! " said Little 
John, 
" That e'er thou grew on a tree ! 
For this day thou art my bale, 

My boot when thou should be ! " 7o 

This shot it was but loosely shot. 

The arrow flew in vain, 
And it met one of the sheriff's men : 

Good William o' Trent was slain. 

It had been better for William o' Trent 75 

To hang upon a gallow, 
Than for to lie in the greenwood. 

There slain with an arrow. 

And it is said, when men be met, 

Six can do more than three ; 80 

And they have ta'en Little John, 

And bound him fast to a tree. 
98 



Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 

Thou shalt be drawn by dale and down," quoth 

the sheriff, 
" And hanged high on a hill." 
But thou may fail," quoth Little John, 85 

" If it be Christ's own will." 



Let us leave talking of Little John, 

For he is bound fast to a tree, 
And talk of Guy and Robin Hood 

In the greenwood where they be ; 90 

How these two yeomen together they met 

Under the leaves of lyne. 
To see what merchandise they made 

Even at that same time. 

" Good morrow, good fellow ! " quoth Sir Guy ; 95 

" Good morrow, good fellow ! " quoth he ; 
" Methinks by this bow thou bears in thy hand, 
A good archer thou seems to be." 

" I am wilful of my way," quoth Sir Guy, 

"And of my morning tide." 100 

" I '11 lead thee through the wood," quoth Robin, 
" Good fellow, I '11 be thy guide." 

" I seek an outlaw," quoth Sir Guy ; 
" Men call him Robin Hood ; 
I had rather meet with him upon a day ^^5 

Than forty pounds of gold." 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' If you two met, it would be seen whether were 
better 
Afore ye did part away ; 
Let us some other pastime find, 

Good fellow, I thee pray. "o 



" Let us some other masteries make, 

And we will walk in the woods even, 
We may chance meet with Robin Hood 
At some unset steven." 

They cut them down the summer shroggs ^^s 

Which grew both under a brier, 
And set them three score rood in twin 

To shoot the prickes full near. 

" Lead on, good fellow," said Sir Guy, 
" Lead on, I do bid thee." 120 

" Nay, by my faith," quoth Robin Hood, 
" The leader thou shalt be." 

The first good shot that Robin led. 
Did not shoot an inch the pricke fro'. 

Guy was an archer good enough, 125 

But he could ne'er shoot so. 

The second shot Sir Guy shot. 

He shot within the garland ; 
But Robin Hood shot it better than he. 

For he clove the good pricke- wand. uo 

100 



Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 

God's blessing on thy heart ! " says Guy, 
" Good fellow, thy shooting is good ; 
For an thy heart be as good as thy hands, 
Thou were better than Robin Hood. 



Tell me thy name, good fellow," quoth Guy, i3S 

" Under the leaves of lyne." 

Nay, by my faith," quoth good Robin, 

" Till thou have told me thine." 

I dwell by dale and down," quoth Guy, 
" And I have done many a curst turn ; mo 

And he that calls me by my right name, 
Calls me Guy of good Gisborne." 

My dwelling is in the wood," says Robin ; 
" By thee I set right nought ; 
My name is Robin Hood of Barnesdale, MS' 

A fellow thou has long sought." 

He that had neither been a kith nor kin 

Might have seen a full fair sight, 
To see how together these yeomen went 

With blades both brown and bright; 150 

To have seen how these yeomen together fought 

Two hours of a summer's day : 
It was neither Guy nor Robin Hood 

That fettled them to fly away. 

Robin was rechless on a root, i55 

And stumbled at that tide; 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And Guy was quick and nimble withal, 
And hit him o'er the left side. 



Ah, dear Lady ! " said Robin Hood, 
" Thou art both mother and may ! i6o 

I think it was never man's destiny 
To die before his day." 

Robin thought on our Lady dear, 

And soon leapt up again ; 
And thus he came with an awkward stroke; 165 

Good Sir Guy he has slain. 

He took Sir Guy's head by the hair, 

And sticked it on his bow's end ; 
Thou hast been traitor all thy life, 

Which thing must have an end." 170 

Robin pulled forth an Irish knife, 

And knicked Sir Guy in the face, 
That he was never on a woman born 

Could tell who Sir Guy was : 

Says, " Lie there, lie there, good Sir Guy, ^75 

And with me be not wroth; 
H thou have had the worse strokes at my hand. 

Thou shalt have the better cloth." 

Robin did [off] his gown of green, 

[On] Sir Guy he did it throw; ^80 

And he put on that capul hide 

That clad him top to toe. 
102 



Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne 

" Thy bow, thy arrows, and little horn. 
With me now I '11 bear ; 
For now I will go to Barnesdale, 185 

To see how my men do fare." 

Robin set Guy's horn to his mouth ; 

A loud blast in it he did blow. 
That beheard the sheriff of Nottingham 

As he leaned under a low; 190 

" Hearken ! hearken ! " . said the sheriff, 
"I heard no tidings but good; 
For yonder I hear Sir Guy's horn blow, 
For he hath slain Robin Hood : 

" For yonder I hear Sir Guy's horn blow, ^95 

It blows so well in tide, 
For yonder comes that wighty yeoman, 
Clad in his capul hide. 

" Come hither, thou good Sir Guy ! 

Ask of me what thou wilt have ! " 200 

" I '11 none of thy gold," says Robin Hood, 
" Nor I '11 none of it have ; 

" But now I have slain the master," he said, 
" Let me go strike the knave ; 
This is all the reward I ask, ^°S 

Nor no other will I have." 

" Thou art a madman," said the sheriff; 
" Thou shouldest have had a knight's fee. 

103 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Seeing thy asking been so bad, 
Well granted it shall be." 21 



But Little John heard his master speak, 

Well he knew that was his Steven ; 
Now shall I be loosed," quoth Little John, 
" With Christ's might in heaven." 

But Robin he hied him towards Little John; 215 
He thought he would loose him belive. 

The sheriff and all his company- 
Fast after him did drive. 

Stand aback ! stand aback ! " said Robin ; 
" Why draw you me so near ? 220 

It was never the use in our country 
One's shrift another should hear." 

But Robin pulled forth an Irish knife, 

And loosed John hand and foot, 
And gave him Sir Guy's bow in his hand, ^25 

And bade it be his boot. 

But John took Guy's bow in his hand. 
His arrows were rawstye by the root ; 

The sheriff saw Little John draw a bow 

And fettle him to shoot; 230 

Towards his house in Nottingham 

He fled full fast away, — 
And so did all his company. 

Not one behind did stay, — 
104 



Kinmont Willie 

But he could neither so fast go, 235 

Nor away so fast run, 
But Little John with an arrow broad 

Did cleave his heart in twin. 

Percy Fol. MS. (modernised). 



KINMONT WILLIE 

O HAVE ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde? 

O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord 
Scroope? 
How they ha'e ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie, 

On Haribee to hang him up? 

Had Willie had but twenty men, 

But twenty men as stout as he, 
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en, 

Wi' eight score in his companie. 

They band his legs beneath the steed. 
They tied his hands behind his back. 

They guarded him, fivesome on each side, 
And they brought him o'er the Liddel-rack. 

They led him through the Liddel-rack, 
And also through the Carlisle sands ; 

They brought him to Carlisle castle, 

To be at my Lord Scroope's commands. 

105 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, 
And whae will dare this deed avow? 
Or answer by the Border law? 
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch ? " 2 



" Now baud thy tongue, thou rank reiver ! 
There 's never a Scot shall set thee free: 
Before ye cross my castle yate, 
I trow ye shall take farewell o' me." 

" Fear na ye that, my lord," quo' Willie : -5 

" By the faith o' my body. Lord Scroope," he 
said, 
" I never yet lodged in a hostelrie, 

But I paid my lawing before I gaed." 

Now word is gane to the bauld keeper, 
In Branksome Ha', where that he lay, 3o 

That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont 
Willie, 
Between the hours of night and day. 

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, 
He gar'd the red wine spring on hie; 
" Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, 35 
" But avenged of Lord Scroope I '11 be ! 

" O is my basnet a widow's curch ? 

Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? 
Or my arm a lady's lily hand. 

That an English lord should lightly me ! 40 
106 



Kinmont Willie 

" And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, 
Against the truce of Border tide? 
And forgotten that the baiild Buccleuch 
Is keeper here on the Scottish side? 

"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont 

Willie, 45 

Withouten either dread or fear? 
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch 
Can back a steed, or shake a spear? 

" O were there war between the lands, 

As well I wot that there is none, 5° 

I would slight Carlisle castle high. 

Though it were builded of marble stone. 

"^ I would set that castle in a low. 

And sloken it with English blood ! 
There 's never a man in Cumberland, 55 

Should ken where Carlisle castle stood. 

" But since nae war 's between the lands, 
And there is peace, and peace should be ; 
I '11 neither harm English lad or lass, 
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be ! " 6o 

He has called him forty Marchmen bauld, 
I trow they were of his ain name. 

Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called 

The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same. 
107 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

He has called him forty Marchmen bauld, 6s 
Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch ; 

With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, 
And gleuves of green, and feathers blue. 

There were five and five, before them a', 

Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright; 7o 

And five and five came wi' Buccleuch, 
Like warden's men, arrayed for fight; 

And five and five, like a mason gang. 
That carried the ladders lang and hie ; 

And five and five, like broken men ; 75 

And so they reached the Woodhouselee. 

And as we crossed the Bateable Land, 
When to the English side we held, 

The first o' men that we met wi', 

Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde? * 80 

" Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen ? " 
Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me ! " 

" We go to hunt an English stag, 

Has trespassed on the Scots' countrie." 

"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?" 85 

Quo' fause Sakelde ; '* come tell me true ! " 

" We go to catch a rank reiver. 

Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch." 

" Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, 

Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie? " 9o 

108 



Kinmont Willie 

We gang to herry a corbie's nest, 

That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." 



Where be ye gaiin, ye broken men ? " 
Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me ! " 

Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, 95 

And the never a word o' lear had he. 

Why trespass ye on the English side? 

Row-footed outlaws, stand ! " quo' he. 
The never a word had Dickie to say, 

Sae he thrust the lance through his fause 
bodie. 100 

Then on we held for Carlisle toun, 

And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossed ; 
The water was great and meikle of spait, 

But the never a horse nor man we lost. 

And when we reached the Staneshaw-bank, io5 
The wind was rising loud and hie; 

And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds. 
For fear that they should stamp and nie. 



And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, 
The wind began full loud to blaw ; 

But 't was wind and weet, and fire and sleet, 
When we came beneath the castle wa'. 

We crept on knees and held our breath, 
Till we placed the ladders against the wa'; 
109 



no 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And sae ready was Buccleuch himsel' i^S 

To mount the first, before us a'. 



He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, 
He flung him down upon the lead ; 

Had there not been peace between our lands. 
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed ! ^^o 

Now sound out, trumpets ! " quo' Buccleuch ; 
" Let 's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie ! " 
Then loud the warden's trumpet blew 
O whae dare meddle wi' nief 

Then speedilie to wark we gaed, ^25 

And raised the slogan ane and a', 
And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, 

And so we wan to the castle ha'. ■ 

They thought King James and a' his men 
Had won the house wi' bow and spear; 130 

It was but twenty Scots and ten, 
That put a thousand in sic a stear ! 

Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers. 

We gar'd the bars bang merrilie, 
Until we cam to the inner prison, i35 

Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. 

And when we cam to the lower prison. 
Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie — 

O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, 

Upon the morn that thou 's to die? " ^40 

no 



Kinmont Willie 

"01 sleep saft and I wake aft ; 

It 's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me ! 
Gi'e my service back to my wife and bairns, 
And a' gnde fellows that spier for me." 

Then Red Rowan has hent him up, us 

The starkest man in Teviotdale — 
" Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, 

Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. 

" Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! 

My gude Lord Scroope, farewell ! " he 
cried; 150 

" I '11 pay you for my lodging maill, 

When first we meet on the Border side." 

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, 
We bore him down the ladder lang; 

At every stride Red Rowan made, ^55 

I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang ! 

" O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 
" I have ridden horse baith wild and wood ; 
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan 

I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. 160 

" And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 
" I 've pricked a horse out o'er the furs ; 
But since the day I backed a steed, 
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs ! " 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, 165 
When a' the CarHsle bells were rung, 

And a thousand men, on horse and foot, 
Cam wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. 

Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, 

Even where it flowed frae bank to brim, 170 

And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, 

And safely swam them through the stream. 

He turned him on the other side. 

And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he ; 
' If ye like na my visit in merry England, ^75 

In fair Scotland come visit me ! " 

All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, 
He stood as still as rock of stane ; 

He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, 
When through the water they had gane. 180 

' He is either himsel' a devil frae hell, 
Or else his mother a witch mau-i be; 
I wad na have ridden that wan water 
For a' the gowd in Christentie." 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



Ill 



CHEVY CHASE 

THE FIRST FIT 

The Percy out of Northumberland, 

An avow to God made he, 
That he would hunt in the mountains 

Of Cheviot within days three, 
In the maugre of doughty Douglas, 5 

And all that ever with him be. 

The fattest harts in all Cheviot, 

He said he would kill, and carry them away : 
By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again, 
" I will let that hunting if that I may." lo 

Then the Percy out of Bamborough came. 

With him a mighty meany. 
With fifteen hundred archers bold, of blood and 
bone, 

They were chosen out of shires three. 

This began on a Monday at morn, ^5 

In Cheviot the hills so hie ; 
The child may rue that is unborn, 

It was the more pity. 

113 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

The drivers thorough the woodes went, 
For to raise the deer ; 2 

Bowmen bickered upon the bent 
With their broad arrows clear. 



Then the wild thorough the woodes went, 

On every side shear ; 
Greyhounds thorough the greves glent 25 

For to kill their deer. 

This began in Cheviot the hills aboon, 

Early on a Monenday; 
By that it drew to the hour of noon, 

A hundred fat harts dead there lay. 3o 

They blew a mort upon the bent, 

They sembled on sides shear ; 
To the quarry then the Percy went, 

To see the brittling of the deer. 

He said, " It was the Douglas' promise 35 

This day to meet me here; 
But I wist he would fail, verament," — 

A great oath the Percy sware. 

At the last a squire of Northumberland 

Looked at his hand full nigh ; 40 

He was 'ware o' the doughty Douglas coming, 
With him a mighty meany ; 

Both with spear, bill, and brand; 
It was a mighty sight to see ; 
114 



Chevy Chase 

Hardier men, both of heart nor hand, 45 

Were not in Christianty. 

They were twenty hundred spearmen good, 

Without any fail ; 
They were born along by the water o' Tweed 

r the bounds of Tivydale. ! 



50 



"' Leave off the brittling of the deer," he said, 
" And to your bows look ye take good heed ; 
For never sith ye were on your mothers born 
Had ye never so mickle need." 

The doughty Douglas on a steed 5S 

He rode all his men beforn ; 
His armor glittered as did a glede ; 

A bolder bairn was never born. 

*' Tell me whose men ye are," he says, 

" Or whose men that ye be : 60 

Who gave you leave to hunt in this Cheviot 
chase, 
In the spite of mine and of me? " 

The first man that ever him an answer made. 
It was the good Lord Percy : 
" We will not tell thee whose men we are," he 

says, 65 

" Nor whose men that we be ; 
But we will hunt here in this chase, 
In the spite of thine and of thee. 

115 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" The fattest harts in k\\ Cheviot 

We have killed and cast to carry them 

away," /^o 

'* By my troth," said the doughty Douglas again, 
" Therefor the ton of us shall die this day." 

Then said the doughty Douglas 
Unto the Lord Percy, 
" To kill all these guiltless men, 7S 

Alas, it were great pity ! 

" But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, 

I am an earl called within my country ; 
Let all our men upon a party stand. 
And do the battle of thee and of me." 80 

" Now Christ's curse on his crown," said the 
Lord Percy, 
" Whosoever thereto says nay ! 
By my troth, doughty Douglas," he says, 
" Thou shalt never see that day. 

" Neither in England, Scotland, nor France, 85 
Nor for no man of a woman born, — 
But, an fortune be my chance, 

I dare meet him, one man for one." 

Then bespake a squire of Northumberland, 
Richard Witherington was his name ; 90 

" It shall never be told in South England," he 
says, 
" To King Harry the Fourth for shame. 
116 



Chevy Chase 

I wot you been great lordes tvva, , 

I am a poor squire of land ; 
I will never see my captain fight on a field, 95 

And stand myself and look on, 
But while I may my weapon wield, 

I will not [fail], both heart and hand." 

That day, that day, that dreadful day ! 

The first fit here I find; loo 

An you will hear any more o' the hunting o' the 
Cheviot 

Yet is there more behind. 

THE SECOND FIT 

The Englishmen had their bows ybent, 

Their hearts were good enough ; 
The first of arrows that they shot off, ^°5 

Seven score spearmen they slough. 

Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent, 

A captain good enough. 
And that was seen, verament. 

For he wrought hem both woe and wouch. "o 

The Douglas parted his host in three. 

Like a chief chieftain of pride ; 
With sure spears of mighty tree. 

They come in on every side ; 

Through [though?] our English archery, "5 
Gave many a wound full wide ; 
117 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Many a doughty they gar'd to die, 
Which gained them no pride. 



The Englishmen let their bows be. 

And pulled out brands that were bright; i-o 
It was a heavy sight to see 

Bright swords on basnets light. 

Thorough rich mail and manople [?] 
Many stern they stroke down straight ; 

Many a freke that was full free, ^-5 

There under-foot did light. 

At last the Douglas and the Percy met, 
Like two captains of might and of main ; 

They swapped together till they both swat, 
With swords that were of fine Milan. 130" 

These worthy frekes for to fight, 

Thereto they were full fain. 
Till the blood out of their basnets sprent. 

As ever did hail or rain. 

Yield thee, Percy," said the Douglas, ^35 

" And i' faith I shall thee bring 
Where thou shalt have an earl's wages 
Of Jamie our Scottish king. 

Thou shalt have thy ransom free, 

I hight thee here this thing; Mo 

For the manfullest man yet art thou 

That ever I conquered in field fighting." 
118 



Chevy Chase 

Nay," said the Lord Percy, 
*' I told it thee beforn, 

That I would never yielded be i45 

To no man of a woman born." 



With that there came an arrow hastily, 

Forth of a mighty wane ; 
It hath stricken the Earl Douglas 

In at the breast bane. 150 

Thorough liver and lunges baith 

The sharp arrow is gane, 
That never after in all his life-days 

He spake mo words but ane : 
That was, " Fight ye, my merry men, whiles 

ye may, ^55 

For my life-days ben gane." 

The Percy leaned on his brand. 

And saw the Douglas die ; 
He took the dead man by the hand. 

And said, "Woe is me for thee! 160 

To have saved thy life I would have parted 
with 

My lands for years three, 
For a better man, of heart nor of hand. 

Was not in all the north country." 

Of all that see a Scottish knight, 165 

Was called Sir Hugh the Montgomery; 
119 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

He saw the Douglas to the death was dight ; 
He spended a spear, a trusty tree. 



He rode upon a courser 

Through a hundred archery, 170 

He never stinted, nor never blane, 

Till he came to the good Lord Percy. 

He set upon the Lord Percy 

A dint that was full sore ; 
With a sure spear of a mighty tree ^75 

Clean thorough the body he the Percy bore, 

O' the tother side that a man might see 

A large cloth-yard and mair : 
Two better captains were not in Christianty 

Then that day slain were there. ^^o 

An archer of Northumberland 

Saw slain was the Lord Percy; 
He bare a bend-bow in his hand, 

Was made of trusty tree. 

An arrow that a cloth-yard was lang 185 

To the hard steel haled he ; 
A dint that was both sad and sore 

He sat on Sir Hugh the Montgomery. 

The dint it was both sad and sore 

That he of Montgomery set ; 190 

The swan-feathers that his arrow bare 

With his heart-blood they were wet. 



Chevy Chase 

There was never a freke one foot would flee. 

But still in stour did stand, 
Hewing on each other, while they might 

dree, iQS 

With many a baleful brand. 



This battle began in Cheviot 

An hour before the noon, 
And when even-song bell was rang, 

The battle was not half done. ^oo 

They took [the way?] on either hand 

By the light of the moon ; 
Many had no strength for to stand 

In Cheviot the hills aboon. 

Of fifteen hundred archers of England 205 

Went away but seventy and three ; 

Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland, 
But even five and fifty. 

But all were slain Cheviot within ; 

They had no streng[th] to stand on hie; 210 
The child may rue that is unborn, 

It was the more pity. 

There was slain with the Lord Percy, 

Sir John of Agerstone ; 
Sir Roger, the hind Hartley; 215 

Sir William, the bold Heron. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Sir George, the worthy Lumley, 

A knight of great renown, 
Sir Raff, the rich Rugby, 

With dints were beaten down. 2: 



For Witherington my heart was woe, 

That ever he slain should be ; 
For when both his legs were hewn in two, 

Yet he kneeled and fought on his knee. 

There was slain with the doughty Douglas, -25 

Sir Hugh the Montgomery; 
Sir Davy Liddale, that worthy was, 

His sister's son was he ; 

Sir Charles o' Murray in that place. 

That never a foot would flee ; 230 

Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, 

With the Douglas did he die. 

So on the morrow they made them biers 

Of birch and hazel so g[ra]y; 
Many widows, with weeping tears, 235 

Came to fetch their makes away. 

Tivydale may carp of care, 

Northumberland may make great moan, 
For two such captains as slain were there 

On the March-party shall never be none. 240 

Word is comen to Edinborough, 
To Jamie, the Scottish king, 



Chevy Chase 

That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the 
Marches, 
He lay slain Cheviot within. 

His hands did he weal and wring: 245 

He said, " Alas, and woe is me ! " 
Such another captain Scotland within. 

He said, i' faith should never be. 

Word is comen to lovely London, 

Till the fourth Harry our king, 250 

That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches, 

He lay slain Cheviot within. 

God have mercy on his soul," said King Harry, 

" Good Lord, if Thy will it be ! 

I have a hundred captains in England." he 

said, 255 

" As good as ever was he : 
But, Percy, an I brook my life. 
Thy death well quit shall be." 

As our noble king made his avow, 

Like a noble prince of renown, 260 

Tor the death of the Lord Percy 

He did the battle of Humbledown ; 

Where six-and-thirty Scottish knights 

On a day were beaten down ; 
Glendale glittered on their armor bright, -^5 

Over castle, tower, and town. 
123 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

This was the hunting of the Cheviot, 

That tear began this spurn ; 
Old men that knowen the ground well enough 

Call it the battle of Otterburn. 270 

At Otterburn began this spurn 

Upon a Monenday ; 
There was the doughty Douglas slain, 

The Percy never went away. 

There was never a time on the March-parties 275 
Sin the Douglas and the Percy met, 

But it is marvel an the red blood run not 
As the rain does in the street. 

Jesu Christ our bales bete. 

And to the bliss us bring ! 280 

Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot : 

God send us all good ending ! 

Child, Pop. Bal., i6?A (modernised). 

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

" Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me?" 8 

124 



The Skeleton in Armor 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. i6 

I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold. 

No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 24 

Far in the Northern Land, . 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 32 

Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 
Fled like a shadow ; 

125 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 4 



'' But when I older grew, 
Joining a. corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 
With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 
By our stern orders. 48' 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing. 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail. 

Filled to o'erflowing. 56 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell their soft splendor. 64 

126 



The Skeleton in Armor 

" I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 72 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall. 
Loud sang the minstrels all. 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 80 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly. 
So the loud laugh of scorn. 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. S8 

" She was a Prince's child. 
^ I but a Viking wild. 

And though she blushed and smiled, 
I was discarded ! 
127 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 96 



" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea-strand. 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 104 

" Then launched they to the blast. 
Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast. 

When the wind failed us; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 112 

" And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 
Through the black water ! i^o 

128 



The Skeleton in Armor 

As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 128 

Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking seaward. ^36 

There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another! 144 

Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men. 
The sunlight hateful ! 
129 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warHke gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 152 



Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul. 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" 

Thus the tale ended. ^6° 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



" HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD 
NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX " 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all 
three ; 
" Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gatebolts 

undrew ; 
" Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping 
through ; 
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 6 
130 



Good News from Ghent 

Not a word to each other ; we kept the great 

pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing 

our place ; 
I turned in my saddle and made its girths 

tight, 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique 

right, 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the 

bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. i^ 

'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew 

near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned 

clear ; 
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 
At Diiffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be ; 
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the 

half-chime. 
So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is 

time ! " i8 



At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun. 
And against him the cattle stood black every 

one, 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past, 
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. 
With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its 

spray : 24 

131 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear 
bent back 

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his 
track; 

And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that 
glance 

O'er its white edge at me, his own master, 
askance I 

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye 
and anon 

His fierce lips shook upwards in gallop- 
ing on. 30 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, 
" Stay spur ! 

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in 
her. 

We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the 
quick wheeze 

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and stag- 
gering knees, 

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. 

As down on her haunches she shuddered and 
sank. 36 



So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the 

sky; 
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stub- 
ble like chaff; 

132 



Good News from Ghent 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 
And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in 

sight ! " 42 

"How they'll greet iis ! " — and all in a moment 

his roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a 

stone ; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole 

weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from 

her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the 

brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' 

rim. 48 

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let 
fall, 

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and 
all, 

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse with- 
out peer ; 

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any 
noise, bad or good, 

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and 

stood. 54 

And all I remember is — friends flocking round 
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the 
ground ; 

133 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And no voice but was praising this Roland of 
mine, 

As I poured down his throat our last measure 
of wine, 

Which (the burgesses voted by common con- 
sent ) 

Was no more than his due who brought good 
news from Ghent. 60 

1838. 1845. Robert Browning. 



HART-LEAP WELL 

The Knight had ridden down from Wensley 

Moor 
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud, 
And now, as he approached a vassal's door, 
Bring forth another horse ! " he cried al'oud. 4 

Another horse ! " — That shout the vassal heard 
And saddled his best Steed, a comely gray ; 
Sir Walter mounted him ; he was the third 
Which he had mounted on that glorious day. 8 

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes ; 
The horse and horseman are a happy pair ; 
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies. 
There is a doleful silence in the air. ^ 12 

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, 
That as they galloped made the echoes roar; 

134 



Hart-Leap Well 

But horse and man are vanished, one and all ; 
Such race, I think, was never seen before. i6 



Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind. 
Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain : 
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their 

kind, 
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. 20 

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them 

on 
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; 
But breath and eyesight fail ; and, one by one, 
The dogs are stretched among the mountain 

fern. 24 

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? 
The bugles that so joyfully were blown? 
— This chase it looks not like an earthly chase: 
Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone. 28 



The poor Hart toils along the mountain-side ; 
I will not stop to tell how far he fled, 
Nor will I mention by what death he died; 
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead. 32 

Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn ; 
He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy : 
He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn. 
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy. 36 

135 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned 
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat ; 
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned ; 
And white with foam as if with cleaving 

sleet. 40 

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched: 
His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill, 
And with the last deep groan his breath had 

fetched 
The waters of the spring were trembling still. 44 

And now, too happy for repose or rest, 

(Never had living man such joyful lot!) 

Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and 

west, 
And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. 48 

And climbing up the hill— (it was at least 
Four roods of sheer ascent). Sir Walter found 
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted 

Beast 
Had left imprinted on the grassy ground. 52 

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, " Till now 
Such sight was never seen by human eyes : 
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty 

brow, 
Down to the very fountain where he lies. 56 

I '11 build a pleasure-house upon this spot, 
And a small arbour, made for rural joy; 
136 



Hart-Leap Well 

'T will be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot, 
A place of love for damsels that are coy. 60 



" A cunning artist will I have to frame 
A basin for that fountain in the dell ! 
And they who do make mention of the same, 
From this day forth, shall call it Hart-Leap 

Well. 64 

" And, gallant stag ! to make thy praises known. 
Another monument shall here be raised ; 
Three several pillars, each a rough-hewn stone. 
And planted where thy hoofs the turf have 

grazed. 68 

*' And in the summer-time, when days are long, 
I will come hither with my paramour ; 
And with the dancers and the minstrel's song 
We will make merry in that pleasant bower. 7 2 

" Till the foundations of the mountains fail 
My mansion with its arbour shall endure ; — 
The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, 
And them who dwell among the woods of 

Ure ! " 76 

Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone- 
dead, 

With breathless nostrils stretched above the 
spring. 

137 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

—Soon did the Knight perform what he had 

said, 
And far and wide the fame thereof did ring. 80 

Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered, 
A cup of stone received the Hving well ; 
Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared. 
And built a house of pleasure in the dell. 84 

And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall 
With trailing plants and trees were inter- 
twined, — 
Which soon composed a little sylvan hall, 
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind. 88 

And thither, when the summer days were long. 
Sir Walter led his wondering paramour; 
And with the dancers and the minstrel's song 
Made merriment within that pleasant bower. 92 

The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, 
And his bones lie in his paternal vale. — 
But there is matter for a second rhyme. 
And I to this would add another tale. 96 



PART SECOND 

The moving accident is not my trade ; 
To freeze the blood I have no ready arts : 
'T is my delight, alone in summer shade. 
To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. 

138 



Hart-Leap Well 

As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, 
It chanced that I saw standing in a dell 
Three aspens at three corners of a square ; 
And one, not four yards distant, near a well. io4 

What this imported I could ill divine : 

And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop, 

I saw three pillars standing in a line, — 

The last stone-pillar on a dark hill-top. io8 

The trees were gray, with neither arms nor 

head ; 
Half wasted the square mound of tawny green ; 
So that you just might say, as then I said, 
Here in old time the hand of man hath 

been." 112 

I looked upon the hill both far and near, — 
More doleful place did never eye survey ; 
It seemed as if the spring-time came not here, 
And nature here was willing to decay. ^^^ 

I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, 
When one, who was in shepherd's garb attired. 
Came up the hollow : — him did I accost. 
And what this place might be I then in- 
quired. 120 

The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told 
Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed. 
A jolly place," said he, " in times of old ! 
But something ails it now: the spot is curst. i-4 

139 



f Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood — 
Some say that they are beeches, others elms — 
These were the bower ; and here a mansion 

stood, 
The finest palace of a hundred realms ! 128 



" The arbour does its own condition tell ; 
You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream ; 
But as to the great lodge ! you might as well 
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream. ^32 

" There 's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, 
Will wet his lips within that cup of stone ; 
And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, 
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan. ^36 

" Some say that here a murder has been done, 
And blood cries out for blood : but, for my part, 
I 've guessed, when I 've been sitting in the sun, 
That it was all for that unhappy Hart. 140 

" What thoughts must through the creature's 

brain have past ! 
Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep. 
Are but three bounds — and look, sir, at this 

last— 
O master ! it has been a cruel leap. H4 

" For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race ; 
And in my simple mind we cannot tell 
140 



Hart-Leap Well 

What cause the Hart might have to love this 

place, 
And come and make his deathbed near the 

well. m8 



" Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, 
Lulled by the fountain in the summer-tide ; 
This water was perhaps the first he drank 
When he had wandered from his mother's 

side. 152 

" In April here beneath the flowering thorn 
He heard the birds their morning carols sing ; 
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born 
Not half a furlong from that self-same 

spring. 156 

" Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade ; 
The sun on drearier hollow never shone ; 
So will it be, as I have often said. 
Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are 

gone." 160 

" Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well ; 
Small difference lies between thy creed and 

mine : 
This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell ; 
His death was mourned by sympathy' divine. 164 

" The Being, that is in the clouds and air. 
That is in the green leaves among the groves, 
141 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Maintains a deep and reverential care 
For the unoffending creatures whom he 

loves. i68 



The pleasure-house is dust: — behind, before, 
This is no common waste, no common gloom ; 
But Nature, in due course of time, once more 
Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom, '^i'^ 

She leaves these objects to a slow decay, 
That what we are, and have been, may be 

known ; 
But at the coming of the milder day, 
These monuments shall all be overgrown. 176 

One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, 
Taught both by what she shows, and what 

conceals ; 
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride 
With sorrow of the meanest thing that 

feels." 180 

1800. William Wordsworth. 



142 



THE SEA 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 

The king sits in Dunfermline town 
Drinking the bkide-red wine ; 
" O whare will I get a skeely skipper 
To sail this new ship o' mine?" 

O up and spak an eldern knight, 
Sat at the king's right knee : 
" Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
That ever sail'd the sea." 
• 
Our king has written a braid letter, 

And seal'd it with his hand, 

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, 

Was walking on the strand. 

" To Noroway, to Noroway, 
To Noroway o'er the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 
'T is thou maun bring her hame." 

The first word that Sir Patrick read, 
Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 

The neist word that Sir Patrick read 
The tear blinded his e'e. 

145 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" O wha is this has done this deed 
And taiild the king o' me, 
To send us out, at this time of the year, 
To sail upon the sea? ^4 

" Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 
Our ship must sail the faem ; 
The king's daughter of Noroway, 

'T is we must fetch her hame." 28 

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn 

Wi' a' the speed they may ; 
They hae landed in Noroway 

Upon a Wodensday. 32 

They hadna been a week, a week 

In Noroway but twae, 
When that the lords o' Noroway 

Began aloud to say : 36 

" Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd, 

And a' our queenis fee ! " 
" Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, 

Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! 4o 

" For I brought as much white monie 
As gane my men and me. 
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red gowd 
Out o'er the sea wi' me. 44 

" Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a' ! 
Our gude ship sails the morn." 
146 



Sir Patrick Spens 

" Now ever alack, my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm. 48 

" I saw the new moon late yestreen 
Wi' the aiild moon in her arm ; 
And if we gang to sea, master, 
I fear we '11 come to harm." 52 

They hadna sail'd a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When the lift grew dark, and the wind 
blew loud. 

And gurly grew the sea. 56 

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, 

It was sic a deadly storm : 
And the waves cam owre the broken ship 

Till a' her sides were torn. 60 

*' O where will I get a gude sailor. 
To take my helm in hand. 
Till I get up to the tall topmast, 

To see if I can spy land? " 64 

" O here am I, a sailor gude. 
To take the helm in hand, 
Till you go up to the tall topmast ; 

But I fear you '11 ne'er spy land." 6S 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step but barely ane. 
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship. 

And the salt sea it came in. i^ 

147 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, 
Another o' the twine, 
And wap them into our ship's side, 
And let nae the sea come in." 76 



They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith, 

Another of the twine, 
And they wrapp'd them round that gude 
ship's side, 

But still the sea came in. 80 

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords 
To weet their cork-heel'd shoon ; 

But lang or a' the play was play'd 

They wat their hats aboon, 84 

And mony was the feather bed 

That flatter'd on the faem ; 
And mony was the gude lord's son 

That never mair cam hame. 88 

The ladies wrang their fingers white, 

The maidens tore their hair, 
A' for the sake of their true loves. 

For them they '11 see nae mair. 92 

O lang, lang may the ladies sit, 

Wi' their fans into their hand. 
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 

Come sailing to the strand ! 96 



On the Loss of the Royal George 

And lang, lang may the maidens sit 
Wi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 

A-waiting for their ain dear loves ! 
For them they '11 see nae mair. 



100 



O forty miles off Aberdeen, 

'T is fifty fathoms deep ; 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. ^°4 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bard. 

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL 
GEORGE 

Toll for the brave ! 

The brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave, 

Fast by their native shore ! 4 

Eight hundred of the brave, 
Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel, 

And laid her on her side. 8 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds 

And she was overset ; 
Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. i^ 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
149 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

His last sea-fight is fought, 

His work of glory done. 16 



It was not in the battle ; 

No tempest gave the shock; 
She sprang no fatal leak, 

She ran upon no rock. 20 

His sword was in its sheath. 

His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred men. 24 

Weigh the vessel up, 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 

The tear that England owes. 28: 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 
Full charged with England's thunder. 

And plough the distant main : 3^ 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 
His victories are o'er ; 
And he and his eight hundred 

Shall plough the wave no more. 3^ 

1782. William Cowper. 



150 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT 
MARINER 

PART I 

It is an ancient Mariner, 
And he stoppeth one of three. 
' By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? 4 

' The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide. 
And I am next of kin ; 
The guests are met, the feast is set: 
May'st hear the merry din." 8 

He holds him with his skinny hand, 
' There was a ship," quoth he. 
' Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon ! " 

Eftsoons his hand dropt he. ^2 



An ancient 
Mariner 
meeteth three 
gallants 
bidden to a 
wedding feast, 
and detaineth 
one. 



He holds him with his glittering eye- 
The Wedding-Guest stood still, 
And listens like a three years' child : 
The Mariner hath his will. 

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: 
He cannot choose but hear; 

151 



16 



The Wedding- 
Guest is spell- 
bound by the 
eye of the old 
seafaring man, 
and constrained 
to hear his tale. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 

The bright-eyed Mariner. 20 



The ship was cheer'd, the harbour clear'd, 

Merrily did we drop 

Below the kirk, below the hill, 

Below the lighthouse top. 24 



The Mariner 
tells how the 
ship sailed 
southward with 
a .eood wind 
and fair 
weather, till 
it reached the 
Line. 



The Sun came up upon the left, 
Out of the sea came he ! 
And he shone bright, and on the right 
Went down into the sea. 



28 



Higher and higher every day, 

Till over the mast at noon — " 

The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, 

For he heard the loud bassoon. 32 



The Wedding- 
Guest heareth 
the bridal 
music; but the 
Mariner con- 
tinueth his tale. 



The Bride hath paced into the hall, 
Red as a rose is she ; 
Nodding their heads before her goes 
The merry minstrelsy. 



36 



The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast. 
Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
And thus spake on that ancient man. 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 



40 



The ship drawn 
by a storm to- 
ward the South 
Pole. 



And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
Was tyrannous and strong : 
He struck with his o'ertaking wings. 
And chased us south along. 

152 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

" With sloping masts and clipping prow, 
As who pursued with yell and blow 
Still treads the shadow of his foe, 
And forward bends his head. 
The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the Wast, 
And southward aye we fled. 5° 

" And now there came both mist and snow, 
And it grew wondrous cold : 
And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald. 54 



And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
Did send a dismal sheen : 
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 



5S 



The land of ice 
and of fearful 
sounds where 
no living thing 
was to be seen. 



The ice was here, the ice was there, 

The ice was all around : 

It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd, 

Like noises in a swound ! 62 



" At length did cross an Albatross, 
Thorough the fog it came ; 
As if it had been a Christian soul. 
We hail'd it in God's name. 

" It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 
And round and round it flew. 
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 
The helmsman steer'd us through ! 

153 



66 



70 



Till a great 
sea-bird, called 
the Albatross, 
came through 
the snow-fog, 
and was re- 
ceived with 
great joy and 
hospitality. 



Andlo! the 
Albatross 
proveth a bird 
of good omen, 
and followeth 
the ship as it 
returned north- 
ward through fog and floating ice. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' And a good south wind sprung up behind ; 
The Albatross did follow, 
And every day, for food or play, 
Came to the mariner's hollo ! 74 



" In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud. 
It perch'd for vespers nine; 
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
Glimmer'd the white moonshine." 78 

The ancient " God Save thee, ancient Mariner, 

Manner in- 
hospitably From the fiends, that plague thee thus! — 

bird of goor"' Why look'st thou so? "— " With my crossbow 
omen. I shot the Albatross. 82 



PART II 



His shipmates 
cry out against 
the ancient 
Mariner for 
killing the bird 
of good luck. 



The Sun now rose upon the right : 
Out of the sea came he, 
Still hid in mist, and on the left 
Went down into the sea. 



86 



" And the good south wind still blew behind, 
But no sweet bird did follow. 
Nor any day for food or play 
Came to the mariner's hollo ! 9° 

" And I had done a hellish thing. 
And it would work 'em woe : 
For all averr'd I had kill'd the bird 
That made the breeze to blow. 
Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
That made the breeze to blow ! 96 

154 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 

The glorious Sun uprist : 

Then all averr'd I had kill'd the bird 

That brought the fog and mist. 

'T was right, said they, such birds to slay, 

That bring the fog and mist. 



But when the 
fog cleared off, 
they justify the 
same, and thus 
make them- 
selves accom- 
plices in the 
crime. 



' The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
The furrow follow'd free ; 
We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. lo^ 

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 

'T was sad as sad could be ; 

And we did speak only to break 

The silence of the sea! iio 



The fair breeze 
continues; the 
ship enters the 
Pacific Ocean, 
and sails north- 
ward, even till 
it reaches the 
Line. 

The ship hath 
been suddenly 
becalmed. 



' All in a hot and copper sky, 
The bloody Sun, at noon. 
Right up above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the Moon. 



14 



Day after day, day after day, 
We stuck, nor breath nor motion 
As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 



118 



" Water, water, everywhere, 
And all the boards did shrink 
Water, water, everywhere. 
Nor any drop to drink. 

155 



And the Alba- 
tross begins to 
be avenged. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" The very deep did rot : O Christ ! 
That ever this should be ! 
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 126 



About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires danced at night; 
The water, like a witch's oils. 
Burnt green, and blue, and white. 



130 



A Spirit had 
followed them; 
one of the in- 
visible inhabi- 
tants of this 
planet, neither 
departed souls 
nor angels; con 
cerning whom 
stantinopolitan 



" And some in dreams assured were 
Of the Spirit that plagued us so; 
Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us 
From the land of mist and snow. 

the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Con- 
Michael Pselhis, may be consulted. They are very 



numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more. 



" And every tongue, through utter drought, 
Was wither'd at the root ; 
We could not speak, no more than if 
We had been choked with soot. ^38 



The shipmates, 
in their sore 
distress, would 
fain throw the 
whole guilt on 
the ancient 
Mariner: in 
sign whereof 
they hang the 
dead sea-bird 
round his neck. 



Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks 
Had I from old and young ! 
Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
About my neck was hung. 



PART III 



142 



There passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parch'd, and glazed each eye. 
156 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



A weary time ! a weary time ! 
How glazed each weary eye ! 
When looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seem'd a little speck, 
And then it seem'd a mist ; 
It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist. 



148 



152 



The ancient 
Mariner be- 
holdeth a sign 
in the element 
afar off. 



A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
And still it near'd and near'd : 
As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
It plunged, and tack'd, and vcer'd. 



t56 



With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 

We could nor laugh nor wail ; 

Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 

I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood. 

And cried, A sail ! a sail ! i^i 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 

Agape they heard me call : 

Gramercy ! they for joy did grin. 

And all at once their breath drew in, 

As they were drinking all. 166 



At its nearer 
approach, it 
seemeth him 
to be a ship; 
and at a dear 
ransom he 
freeth his 
speech from 
the bonds of 
thirst. 



A flash of joy; 



See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! 
Hither to work us weal ; 
Without a breeze, without a tide, 
She steadies with upright keel ! 

157 



170 



and horror 
follows. For 
can it be a 
ship that comes 
onward without 
wind or tide? 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' The western wave was all aflame — 
The day was wellnigh done ! 
Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad, bright Sun ; 
When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 176 



It seemeth him " And Straight the Sun was fleck'd with bars 
but the skele- >t\t^i j i\' 

ton of a ship. (Heavens Mother send us grace!), 

As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd 

With broad and burning face. 



180 



Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres? 184 



And its ribs 
are seen as 
bars on the 
face of the 
setting Sun. 
The Spectre- 
Woman and her 
Death-mate, 
and no other, 
on board the 
skeleton ship. 
Like vessel, 
like crew! 



Death and 
Life-in-Death 
have diced for 
the ship's crew, 
and she (the 
latter) winneth 
the ancient 
Mariner. 



" Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
Did peer, as through a grate? 
And is that Woman all her crew? 
Is that a Death? and are there two? 
Is Death that Woman's mate? ^89 

" Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
Her locks were yellow as gold : 
Her skin was as white as leprosy, 
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, 
Who thicks man's blood with cold. •'94 

" The naked hulk alongside came. 
And the twain were casting dice; 
' The game is done ! I 've won ! I 've won I ' 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. ^98 

IS8 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out 
At one stride comes the dark ; 
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, 
Off shot the spectre-bark. 



No twilight 
within the 
courts of the 
Sun. 



" We Hsten'd and look'd sideways up ! 
Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 
My life-blood seem'd to sip ! 
The stars were dim, and thick the night, 
The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white ; 
From the sails the dew did drip — 
Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned Moon, with one bright star 
Within the nether tip. 211 



At the rising 
of the Moon, 



One after one, by the star-dogg'd Moon, 
Too quick for groan or sigh. 
Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang, 
And cursed me with his eye. 215 



one after 
another. 



" Four times fifty living men 
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan), 
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
They dropp'd down one by one. 



219 



his shipmates 
drop down 
dead. 



The souls did from their bodies fly — 
They fled to bliss or woe ! 
And every soul, it pass'd me by 
Like the whizz of my crossbow ! " 

159 



22Z 



But Life-in- 
Death begins 

her work on 
the ancient 
Mariner. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 



PART IV 



The Wedding- 
Guest feareth 
that a spirit 
is talking to 
him. 



I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 

I fear thy skinny hand ! 

And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 

As is the ribb'd sea-sand. 227 



But the an- 
cient Mariner 
assureth him 
of his bodily 
life, and pro- 
ceedeth to re- 
late his horrible 
penance. 



I fear thee and thy glittering eye, 
And thy skinny hand so brown." — 
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
This body dropt not down. 231 

Alone, alone, all, all alone, 

Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 

And never a saint took pity on 

My soul in agony. 235 



He despiseth The many men, so beautiful ! 

the creatures of . , , ,, , ,,.,,. 

the calm. And they all dead did he : 

And a thousand thousand slimy things 
Lived on ; and so did I. 



239 



And envieth 
that they 
should live, 
and so many 
lie dead. 



" I look'd upon the rotting sea, 
And drew my eyes away ; 
I look'd upon the rotting deck, 
And there the dead men lay. 



I look'd to Heaven, and tried to pray 
But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
A wicked whisper came, and made 
My heart as dry as dust. 
160 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

" I closed my lids, and kept them close, 
And the balls like pulses beat ; 
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the 

sky. 
Lay like a load on my weary eye, 
And the dead were at my feet. 252 



The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 

Nor rot nor reek did they : 

The look with which they look'd on me 



But the curse 
liveth for him 
in the eye of the 
dead men. 



Had never pass'd away. 
" An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
A spirit from on high ; 
But oh ! more horrible than that 
Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! 
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
And yet I could not die. 



2s6 



262 



" The moving Moon went up the sky, 
And nowhere did abide ; 
Softly she was going up, 
And a star or two beside — 266 

stars that still sojourn, yet still move onward; and everywhere the blue 
sky belongs to them, and is their appointed rest, and their native country 
and their own natural homes, which they enter unannounced, as lords 
that are certainly expected, and yet there is a silent joy at their 
arrival. 



In his loneli- 
ness and 
fixedness he 
yearneth 
toward the 
journeying 
Moon, and the 



Her beams bemock'd the sultry main, 

Like April hoar-frost spread ; 

But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 

The charmed water burnt alway 

A still and awful red. 

161 



271 



By the light 
of the Moon 
he beholdeth 
God's crea- 
tures of the 
great calm. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' Beyond the shadow of the ship, 
I watch'd the water-snakes : 
They moved in tracks of shining white, 
And when they rear'd, the elfish light 
Fell off in hoary flakes. 276 



" Within the shadow of the slap 
I watch'd their rich attire : 
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
They coil'd and swam ; and every track 
Was a flash of golden fire. 



281 



Their beauty 
and their 
happiness. 



He blesseth 
them in his 
heart. 



O happy living things ! no tongue 

Their beauty might declare : 

A spring of love gush'd from my heart, 

And I bless'd them unaware : 

Sure my kind saint took pity on mb, 

And I bless'd them unaware. 



287 



The spell 
begins to 
break. 



The selfsame moment I could pray; 
And from my neck so free 
The Albatross fell off, and sank 
Like lead into the sea. 



291 



PART V 



O sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 
Beloved from pole to pole ! 
To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 
That slid into my soul. 
162 



296 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

The silly buckets on the deck, 

That had so long remain'd, 

I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew ; 

And when I awoke, it rain'd. 300 



By grace of 
the holy 
Mother, the 
ancient 
Mariner is 
refreshed 
with rain. 



My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
My garments all were dank ; 
Sure I had drunken in my dreams, 
And still my body drank. 



I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
I was so light — almost 
I thought that I had died in sleep, 
And was a blessed ghost. 



308 



And soon I heard a roaring wind : 

It did not come anear ; 

But with its sound it shook the sails, 

That were so thin and sere. 312 

The upper air burst into life ! 

And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 

To and fro they were hurried about ! 

And to and fro, and in and out. 

The wan stars danced between. 3^7 



He heareth 
sounds and 
seeth strange 
sights and 
commotions 
in the sky and 
the element. 



" And the coming wind did roar more loud, 
And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
And the rain pour'd down from one black 

cloud ; 
The Moon was at its edge. 321 

163 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
The Moon was at its side ; 
Like waters shot from some high crag, 
The lightning fell with never a jag, 
A river steep and wide. 326 



The bodies of 
the ship's crew 
are inspired, 
and the ship 
moves on : 



The loud wind never reach'd the ship, 

Yet now the ship moved on ! 

Beneath the lightning and the Moon 

The dead men gave a groan. 330 

They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose. 

Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 

It had been strange, even in a dream, 

To have seen those dead men rise. 334 



but not by 
the souls of 
the men, nor 
by daemons of 
earth or middle 
air, but by a 
blessed troop 
of angelic 
spirits, sent 
down t)y the 
invocation of 
the guardian 
saint. 



" The helmsman steer'd, the ship moved on ; 
Yet never a breeze up-blew ; 
The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, 
Where they were wont to do ; 
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
We were a ghastly crew. 34o 

" The body of my brother's son 
Stood by me, knee to knee : 
The body and I pull'd at one rope, 
But he said naught to me." 344 

" I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! " 
" Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 

'T was not those souls that fled in pain, 

Which to their corses came again, 

But a troop of spirits blest : 349 

164 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

" For when it dawn'd— they dropp'd their arms, 
And cluster'd round the mast; 
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 
And from their bodies pass'd. 353 

" Around, around, flew each sweet sound, 
Then darted to the Sun; 
Slowly the sounds came back again, 
Now mix'd, now one by one. 357 

" Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
I heard the skylark sing; 
Sometimes all little birds that are, 
How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 
With their sweet jargoning! 362 

" And now 't was like all instruments. 
Now like a lonely flute ; 
And now it is an angel's song, 
That makes the Heavens be mute. 366 

" It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
A pleasant noise till noon, 
A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 
That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune. 37^ 

" Till noon we quietly sail'd on. 
Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
Slowly and smoothly went the ship. 
Moved onward from beneath. 376 

i6s 



The lonesome 
Spirit from the 
South Pole 
carries on the 
ship as far as 
the Line, in 
obedience to 
the angelic 
troop, but still 
requireth 
vengeance. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Under the keel nine fathom deep 
From the land of mist and snow 
The Spirit slid : and it was he 
That made the ship to go. 
The sails at noon left ofT their tune, 
And the ship stood still also. 



382 



The Sun, right up above the mast, 
Had fix'd her to the ocean : 
But in a minute she 'gan stir. 
With a short uneasy motion — 
Backwards and forwards half her length 
With a short uneasy motion. 



38S 



Then like a pawing horse let go, 
She made a sudden bound : 
It flung the blood into my head, 
And I fell down in a swound. 



392 



The Polar 
Spirit's fellow- 
daemons, the 
invisible inhabi 
tants of the 
element, take 
part in his 
wrong; and 
two of them 
relate, one to 
the other, that 
penance long 
and heavy for 
the ancient 
Mariner hath 
been accorded 
to the Polar 
Spirit, who 
returneth 
southward. 



" How long in that same fit I lay, 
I have not to declare ; 
But ere my living life return'd, 
T heard, and in my soul discern'd 
Two voices in the air. 



By Him who died on cross, 

With his cruel blow he laid full low 

The harmless Albatross. 

" ' The Spirit who abideth by himself 
In the land of mist and snow, 
166 



397 



401 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



He loved the bird that loved the man 
Who shot him with his bow.' 



40s 



" The other was a softer voice, 
As soft as honey-dew : 
Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 
And penance more will do.' 409 

PART VI 
First Voice: 
" ' But tell me, tell me ! speak again. 
Thy soft response renewing — 
What makes that ship drive on so fast? 
What is the Ocean doing?' 413 

Second Voice: 
" ' Still as a slave before his lord, 
The Ocean hath no blast ; 
His great bright eye most silently 
Up to the Moon is cast — 417 



" ' If he may know which way to go ; 
For she guides him smooth or grim. 
See, brother, see ! how graciously 
She looketh down on him.' 

First Voice: 
" ' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
Without or wave or wind ? ' 

Second Voice: 
" ' The air is cut away before, 
And closes from behind. 
167 



421 



The Mariner 
hath been cast 
into a trance; 
for the angelic 
power causeth 
the vessel to 
drive northward 
faster than 
human life 
could endure. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 

Or we shall be belated : 

For slow and slow that ship will go. 

When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 4^ 



The super- 
natural motion 
is retarded; 
the Mariner 
awakes, and 
his penance 
begins anew. 



I woke, and we were sailing on 

As in a gentle weather : 

'T was night, calm night, the Moon was high ; 

The dead men stood together. 433 

All stood together on the deck, 

For a charnel-dungeon fitter : 

All fix'd on me their stony eyes, 

That in the Moon did glitter. 437 



The pang, the curse, with which they died, 

Had never pass'd away: 

I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 

Nor turn them up to pray. 44i 



The curse is 
finally expiated. 



And now this spell was snapt : once more 

I viewed the ocean green, 

And look'd far forth, yet little saw 

Of what had else been seen — 



445 



" Like one that on a lonesome road 
Doth walk in fear and dread. 
And having once turn'd round, walks on. 
And turns no more his head ; 
Because he knows a frightful fiend 
Doth close behind him tread. 
i68 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
Nor sound nor motion made : 
Its path was not upon the sea, 
hi ripple or in shade. 



4SS 



It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek 
Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
It mingled strangely with my fears. 
Yet it felt like a welcoming. 



" Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
Yet she sail'd softly too: 
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze- 
On me alone it blew. 



463 



O dream of joy! is this indeed 
The lighthouse top I see? 
Is this the hill? is this the kirk? 
Is this mine own countree? 



And the ancient 
Mariner be- 
holdeth his 
native country. 



467 



" We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, 
And I with sobs did pray — 
O let me be awake, my God ! 
Or let me sleep alway. 



471 



" The harbour-bay was clear as glass, 
So smoothly it was strewn ! 
And on the bay the moonlight lay. 
And the shadow of the Moon. 



475 



" The rock shone bright, the kirk no less 
That stands above the rock : 
169 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 



The moonlight steep'd in silentness 
The steady weathercock. 



479 



The angelic "And the bay was white with silent light 

spirits leave the t^-ii • • r a_i 

dead bodies, Till rising from the same, 

Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
In crimson colours came. 



483 



and appear in A little distance from the prow 

their own forms rr^, . , , 

of light. Those crimson shadows were : 

I turn'd my eyes upon the deck- 

O Christ ! what saw I there ! 



487 



Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 
And, by the holy rood ! 
A man all light, a seraph-man, 
On every corse there stood. 



491 



' This seraph-band, each waved his hand 
It was a heavenly sight ! 
They stood as signals to the land, 
Each one a lovely light ; 



495 



*' This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
No voice did they impart — 
No voice ; but Oh ! the silence sank 
Like music on my heart. 

" But soon I heard a dash of oars, 
I heard the Pilot's cheer ; 
My head was turn'd perforce away, 
And I saw a boat appear. 
170 



503 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, 

I heard them coming fast : 

Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 

The dead men could not blast. S07 



I saw a third — I heard his voice: 

It is the Hermit good ! 

He singeth loud his godly hymns 

That he makes in the wood. 

He '11 shrieve my soul, he '11 wash away 

The Albatross's blood. 513 



PART VII 

" This Hermit good lives in that wood The Hermit 

Which slopes down to the sea. 
How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
He loves to talk with marineres 
That come from a far countree. S18 



He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 

He hath a cushion plump : 

It is the moss that wholly hides 

The rotted old oak-stump. 522 

The skiff-boat near'd : I heard them talk, 
Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
Where are those lights so many and fair, 
'That signal made but now?' 5^6 

171 



approacheth 
the ship with 
wonder. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' * Strange, by my faith ! ' the Hermit said — 
' And they answer'd not our cheer ! 

The planks look warp'd ! and see those sails, 

How thin they are and sere ! 

I never saw aught like to them, 

Unless perchance it were 53^ 



' Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
My forest-brook along;. 
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
That eats the she-wolf's young.' 



* Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look- 
(The Pilot made reply) 
I am a-fear'd.' — ' Push on, push on ! 
Said the Hermit cheerily. 



541 



The boat came closer to the ship. 
But I nor spake nor stirr'd ; 
The boat came close beneath the ship, 
And straight a sound was heard. 



545 



The ship sud- 
denly sinketh. 



" Under the water it rumbled on, 
Still louder and more dread : 
It reach'd the ship, it split the bay ; 
The ship went down like lead. 



549 



The ancient 
Mariner is 
saved in the 
Pilot's boat. 



Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound. 
Which sky and ocean smote, 
Like one that hath been seven days drown'd 
My body lay afloat ; 

172 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 



But swift as dreams, myself I found 
Within the Pilot's boat. 



555 



Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
The boat spun round and round ; 
And all was still, save that the hill 
Was telling of the sound. 



559 



I moved my lips — the Pilot shriek'd 
And fell down in a fit ; 
The holy Hermit raised his eyes, 
And pray'd where he did sit. 



563 



" I took the oars : the Pilot's boy, 

Who now doth crazy go, 

Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while 

His eyes went to and fro. 
* Ha ! ha I ' quoth he, * full plain I see, 

The Devil knows how to row.' 



569 



And now, all in my own countree, 

I stood on the firm land ! 

The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat. 

And scarcely he could stand. 573 

' O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ' 
The Hermit cross'd his brov/. 
Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say — 
What manner of man art thou ? ' 577 

173 



The ancient 
Mariner 
earnestly en- 
treateth the 
Hermit to 
shrieve him; 
and the pen- 
ance of life 
falls on him. 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

* Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd 
With a woful agony, 
Which forced me to begin my tale ; 
And then it left me free. sSi 



And ever 
and anon 
throughout 
his future life 
an agony 
constraineth 
him to travel 
from land to 
land; 



Since then, at an uncertain hour, 

That agony returns : 

And till my ghastly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 58s 

I pass, like night, from land to land; 

I have strange power of speech ; 

That moment that his face I see, 

I know the man that must hear me : 

To him my tale I teach. 59o 



*' What loud uproar bursts from that door ! 
The wedding-guests are there : 
But in the garden-bower the Bride 
And bride-maids singing are: 
And hark, the little vesper bell, 
Which biddeth me to prayer ! 



596 



O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea : 
So lonely 't was, that God Himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 



600 



O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
'T is sweeter far to me, 
To walk together to the kirk 
With a goodly company ! — 

174 



604 



The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 

" To walk together to the kirk, 
And all together pray, 
While each to his great Father bends, 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends, 
And youths and maidens gay ! 



609 



" Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
He prayeth well, who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

" He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all," 



613 



617 



and to teach, 
by his own 
example, 
love and 
reverence to 
all things 
that God 
made and 
loveth. 



The Mariner, whose eye is bright. 
Whose beard with age is hoar, 
Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest 
Turn'd from the Bridegroom's door. 



621 



He went like one that hath been stunn'd, 

And is of sense forlorn: 

A sadder and a wiser man, 

He rose the morrow morn. 6-25 

1798. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



175 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 

Ye Mariners of England ! 

That guard our native seas ; 

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years> 

The battle and the breeze ! 

Your glorious standard launch again 

To match another foe ! 

And sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave! — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave: 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow ; 

While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. ■ 

Britannia needs no bulwarks. 
No towers along the steep ; 
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 
Her home is on the deep. 
176 



The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 

With thunders from her native oak, 

She quells the floods below, — 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy winds do blow ; 

When the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 3o 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn ; 
Till danger's troubled night depart, 
And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean warriors ! 
Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name. 
When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
When the fiery fight is heard no more. 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 4<> 

iSoi. Thomas Campbell. 



THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM 
FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND 

The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 4 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. ^ 

177 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame. i 



Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear, — 
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. i6 

Amidst the storm they sang. 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods 
rang 
To the anthem of the free. -^ 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam. 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — 

This was their welcome home. 24 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim-band, — 
Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land? 28 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high. 

And the fiery heart of youth. 2,2 

17S 



The Inchcape Rock 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? 

—They sought a faith's pure shrine! 36 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod ; 
They have left unstained what there they 
found, — 
Freedom to worship God. 4° 

[g28. Felicia Dorothea He mans. 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, — 

The ship was as still as she could be; 

Her sails from heaven received no motion; 

Her keel was steady in the ocean. 4 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape rock; 
So little they rose, so little they fell. 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. ^ 

The holy Abbot of Aberbrothok 
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape rock; 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. i- 

179 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

When the rock was hid by the surge's swell, 

The mariners heard the warning bell ; 

And then they knew the perilous rock, 

And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. i6 



The sun in heaven was shining gay, — 

All things were joyful on that day; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around, 

And there was joyance in their sound. ■20 

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, 

A darker speck on the ocean green ; 

Sir Ralph, the rover, walked his deck. 

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 24 

He felt the cheering power of spring, — 

It made him whistle, it made him sing; 

His heart was mirthful to excess ; 

But the rover's mirth was wickedness. ^8 



His eye was on the bell and float : 

Quoth he, " My men, put out the boat ; 

And row me to the Inchcape rock, 

And I '11 plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 32 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 
And to the Inchcape rock they go ; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. 
And cut the warning bell from the float. 36 

180 



The Inchcape Rock 

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound ; 

The bubbles rose, and burst around. 

Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to the 

rock 
Will not bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 40 



Sir Ralph, the rover, sailed away, — 

He scoured the seas for many a day; 

And now, grown rich with plundered store. 

He steers his course to Scotland's shore. 44 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky 

They cannot see the sun on high ; 

The wind hath blown a gale all day; 

At evening it hath died away. 48 

On the deck the rover takes his stand ; 

So dark it is they see no land. 

Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, 

For there is the dawn of the rising moon." S- 

Canst hear," said one, "the breakers roar? 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape bell." 56 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; 
Though the v^^ind hath fallen, they drift along; 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, — 
O Christ ! it is the Inchcape rock ! 60 

i8r 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Sir Ralph, the rover, tore his hair; 

He cursed himself in his despair. 

The waves rush in on every side ; 

The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 64 



But ever in his dying fear 

One dreadful sound he seemed to hear, — 

A sound as if with the Inchcape bell 

The Devil below was ringing his knell. 68 

1801. Robert Southey. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 4 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 8 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth. 
And he watched how the veering flaw did 
blow 
The smoke now West, now South. ^^ 

182 



The Wreck of the Hesperus 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 
I pray thee, put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. ^6 



Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 20 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. -4 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frightened 
steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 28 

Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter,. 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 32 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

A.nd bound her to the mast. 3^ 

183 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! "— 

And he steered for the open sea. 4o 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 44 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
O say, what may it be? " 
But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 48 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark. 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 52 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and 
prayed 
That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the 
wave, 
On the Lake of Galilee. 56 

And fast through the midnight dark and 
drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 60 

184 



The Wreck of the Hesperus 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 64 



The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 68 



She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 7 2 



Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 7^ 



At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. So 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast. 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, 

On the billows fall and rise. ^4^ 

185 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! S 

1S39. Henry Wadswortli Longfcllozv. 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death ; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east-wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide. 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 

Alas ! the land-wind failed. 
And ice-cold grew the night ; 
186 



Sir Humphrey Gilbert 

And nevermore, on sea or shore, 

Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 20 

He sat upon the deck. 

The Book was in his hand ; 
" Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," 

He said, " by water as by land ! " 24 

In the first watch of the night, 

Without a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 28 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds ; 

Every mast, as it passed, 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 32 

They grappled with their prize. 

At midnight black and cold ! 
As of a rock was the shock ; 

Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 36 

Southward through day and dark. 

They drift in close embrace, 
With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; 

Yet there seems no change of place. 40 

Southward, forever southward, 

They drift through dark and day ; 
And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream 

Sinking, vanish all away. 44 

.8. Henry Wadswortli Longfellozv. 

187 



HERVE RIEL 

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred 

ninety-two, 
Did the EngHsh fight the French, — woe to 

France ! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter 

through the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of 

sharks pursue, 
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on 

the Ranee, 
With the English fleet in view. ^ 

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the 
victor in full chase ; 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great 
ship, Damfreville ; 
Close on him fled, great and small, 
Twenty-two good ships in all; 
And they signalled to the place 
Help the winners of a race ! 

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us 

quick — or, quicker still. 
Here 's the English can and will!" m 

i88 



Herve Riel 

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and 

leapt on board ; 
" Why, what hope or chance have ships like 
these to pass ? " laughed they : 
■ Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the 

passage scarred and scored. 
Shall the ' Formidable ' here with her twelve 
and eighty guns 
Think to make the river-mouth by the single 
narrow way, 
Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of 

twenty tons, 
And with flow at full beside? 
Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide. 

Reach the mooring? Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs, 

Not a ship will leave the bay ! " 25 

Then was called a council straight. 

Brief and bitter the debate: 

Here 's the English at our heels ; would you 

have them take in tow 
All that 's left us of the fleet, linked together 

stern and bow, 
For a prize to Plymouth Sound? 
Better run the ships aground ! " 

(Ended Damfreville his speech). 
Not a minute more to wait ! 
Let the Captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels 
on the beach ! 
France must undergo her fate. 36 

189 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Give the word ! " But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck 

amid all these 
— A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate — first, 
second, third? 
No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete ! 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tour- 
ville for the fleet, 
A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the 

Croisickese. 44 



And " What mockery or malice have we here? " 

cries Herve Riel : 
" Are you mad, you Malouins ? Are you 

cowards, fools, or rogues? 
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took 

the soundings, tell 
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every 

swell, 
'Twixt the offing here and Greve where the 

river disembogues? 
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love 

the lying's for? 
Morn and eve, night and day, 
Have I piloted your bay. 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of 

Solidor. 
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were 

worse than fifty Hogues ! 
190 



Herve Riel 

Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, be- 
lieve me there 's a way ! 
Only let me lead the line, 
Have the biggest ship to steer. 
Get this ' Formidable ' clear, 
Make the others follow mine, 
And I lead them, most and least, by a passage 
I know well, 
Right to Solidor past Greve, 
And there lay them safe and sound ; 

And if one ship misbehave, 
— Keel so much as grate the ground. 
Why I 've nothing but my life, — here 's my 

head ! " cries Herve Riel. 65 

Not a minute more to wait. 
Steer us in, then, small and great ! 

Take the helm, lead the line, save the 
squadron ! " cried its chief. 
Captains, give the sailor place ! 

He is Admiral, in brief. 
Still the north-wind, by God's grace ! 
See the noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound. 
Clears the entry like a hound. 
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the 
wide sea's profound ! 

See, safe through shoal and rock. 

How they follow in a flock, 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that 
grates the ground, 

Not a spar that comes to grief ! 

191 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetiy 

The peril, see, is past. 

All are harbored to the last, 

And just as Herve Riel hollas "Anchor! " — 

sure as fate. 
Up the English come — too late! 83 

So, the storm subsides to calm: 

They see the green trees wave 

On the heights o'erlooking Greve. 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
" Just our rapture to enhance. 

Let the English rake the bay, 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 

As they cannonade away ! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the 

Ranee ! " 
How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's 

countenance ! 
Out burst all with one accord, 
" This is Paradise for Hell ! 
Let France, let France's King 
Thank the man that did the thing ! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 
" Herve Riel ! " 
As he stepped in front once more. 

Not a symptom of surprise 

In the frank blue Breton eyes. 
Just the same man as before. io3 

Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 
Though I find the speaking hard. 
192 



Herve Riel 

Praise is deeper than the Hps : 
You have saved the King his ships, 

You must name your own reward. 
'Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. • 
Ask to heart's content and have ! or my name 's 
not Damfreville." ^^3 



Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On the bearded mouth that spoke. 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 
Since I needs must say my say, 

Since on board the duty 's done. 

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what 
is it but a run? — 
Since 't is ask and have, I may — 

Since the others go ashore — 
Come ! A good whole holiday ! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the 
Belle Aurore ! " 

That he asked and that he got, — nothing 
more. ^-5 



Name and deed alike are lost : 
Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack, 

193 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

In memory of the man but for whom had gone 
to wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence 
England bore the bell. 
Go to Paris : rank on rank 

Search the heroes fiung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ! 

You shall look long enough ere you come to 
Herve Riel. 
So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife. 
the Belle Aurore ! mo 

1871. Robert Broivning. 



194 



WAR 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN 

It fell about the Lammas tide, 

When the muir-men win their hay, 

The doughty Douglas bound him to ride 
Into England, to drive a prey. 

He chose the Gordons and the Graemes, 
With them the Lindesays, light and gay ; 

But the Jardines wald not with him ride, 
And they rue it to this day. 

And he has burned the dales of Tyne, 

And part of Bamb'rough shire ; 
And three good towers on Reidswire fells, 

He left them all on fire. 

And he marched up to Newcastle, 
And rode it round about ; 
" O wha 's the lord of this castle, 
Or wha 's the lady o't?" 

But up spake proud Lord Percy, then. 
And O but he spake hie ! 
" I am the lord of this castle, 
My wife 's the lady gay." 
107 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

*' If thou 'rt the lord of this castle, 
Sae weel it pleases me ! 
For, ere I cross the Border fells, 
The tane of us shall die." 

He took a lang spear in his hand, 25 

Shod with the metal free, 
And for to meet the Douglas there. 

He rode right furiouslie. 

But O how pale his lady looked, 

Frae aff the castle wa', 3^ 

When down before the Scottish spear 

She saw proud Percy fa'. 

" Had we twa been upon the green. 
And never an eye to see, 
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell ; 35 

But your sword sail gae wi' me," 

" But gae ye up to Otterburn, 
And wait there dayis three ; 
And if I come not ere three dayis end, 

A fause knight ca' ye me." ^'' 

" The Otterburn 's a bonny burn ; 
'T is pleasant there to be ; 
But there is nought at Otterburn, 
To feed my men and me. 

" The deer rms wild on hill and dale, '^' 

The birds fly wild from tree to tree ; 
ic8 



The Battle of Otterburn 

But there is neither bread nor kale, 
To fend rny men and me. 

" Yet I will stay at Otterburn, 

Where you shall welcome be ; so 

And, if ye come not at three day is end, 
A fause lord I '11 ca' thee." 

'' Thither will I come," proud Percy said, 

" By the might of Our Ladie ! " 
" There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, 55 

" My trowth I plight to thee." 

They lighted high on Otterburn 

Upon the bent sae brown ; 
They lighted high on Otterburn, 

And threw their pallions down. 60 

And he that had a bonny boy. 

Sent out his horse to grass ; 
And he that had not a bonny boy, 

His ain servant he was. 

But up then spake a little page, 65 

Before the peep of dawn : 
" O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord. 
For Percy 's hard at hand." 

'' Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud! 

Sae loud I hear ye lie : 7° 

For Percy had not men yestreen 
To dight my men and me. 

199 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

* But I hae dreamed a dreary dream, 
Beyond the Isle of Sky ; 
I saw a dead man win a fight, 75 

And I think that man was I." 



He belted on his guid braid sword, 

And to the field he ran ; 
But he forgot the helmet good, 

That should have kept his brain. 80 

When Percy wi' the Douglas met, 

I wat he was fu' fain ! 
They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, 

And the blood ran down like rain. 

But Percy with his guid braid sword, 85 

That could so sharply wound, 
Has wounded Douglas on the brow, 

Till he fell to the ground. 

Then he called on his little foot-page, 

And said, " Run speedily, 90 

And fetch my ain dear sister's son, 
Sir Hugh Montgomery, 

" My nephew good," the Douglas said, 
" What recks the death of ane ! 
Last night I dreamed a dreary dream, 95 

And I ken the day 's thy ain. 

"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; 
Take thou the vanguard of the three, 



Tlie Battle of Otterburn 

And hide me by the braken bush. 

That grows on yonder Hly lee. ^'^o 

O bury me by the braken bush, 

Beneath the blooming brier, 
Let never living mortal ken. 

That ere a kindly Scot lies here.'' 

He lifted up that noble lord, io5 

Wi' the saut tear in his e'e ; 
He hid him in the braken bush, 

That his merry men might not see. 

The moon was clear, the day drew near. 

The spears in flinders flew, ^"^ 

But mony a gallant Englishman 

Ere day the Scotsmen slew. 

The Gordons good, in English blood. 

They steeped their hose and shoon ; 
The Lindesays flew like fire about, "5 

Till all the fray was done. 

The Percy and Montgomery met ; 

That either of other were fain ; 
They swapped swords, and they twa swat, 

And aye the blood ran down between. i-o 

Yield thee, O yield thee, Percy," he said. 

'' Or else I vow I *1I lay thee low ! " 
Whom to shall I yield," said Earl Percy. 

" Now that I see it must be so? " 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, ^^s 

Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; 
But yield thee to the braken bush. 
That grows upon yon lily lee ! " 

" I will not yield to a braken bush, 

Nor yet will I yield to a brier; uo 

But I would yield to Earl Douglas. 
Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were 
here." 

As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, 
He struck his sword's point in the grond; 

The Montgomery was a courteous knight, us 
And quickly took him by the bond. 

This deed was done at Otterburn 

About the breaking of the day ; 
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, 

And the Percy led captive away. ^4o 

Scotf, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



AGINCOURT 



To the Cambro-Britains and 

their Harp, his Ballad 

of Agincourt 



Fair stood the wind for France 
When we our sails advance. 
Nor now to prove our chance 
Longer will tarry ; 

202 



Agincourt 

But putting to the main. 

At Caux. the mouth of Seine, 

With all his martial train 

Landed King Harry: 8 

And taking many a fort 
Furnish'd in warlike sort, 
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt 

In happy hour ; 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those that stopp'd his way, 
Where the French gen'ral lay 

With all his power. i6 

Which, in his height of pride. 
King Henry to deride, 
His ransom to provide 

Unto him sending; 
Which he neglects the while 
As from a nation vile, 
Yet with an angry smile 

Their fall portending. 24 

And turning to his men, 
Quoth our brave Henry then: 
' Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amazed : 
Yet have we well begun ; 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By fame been raised. 32 

203 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

"And for myself (quoth he) 
This my full rest shall be, 
England ne'er mourn for me 

Nor more esteem me : 
Victor I will remain 
Or on this earth lie slain, 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me. 40 



" Poitiers and Cressy tell, 
When most their pride did swell, 
Under our swords they fell : 

No less our skill is 
Than when our grandsire great, 
Claiming the regal seat, 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopp'd the French lilies." 48 

The Duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
With the main Henry sped 

Among his hench-men. 
Excester had the rear, 
A braver man not there, — 
O Lord, how hot they were 

On the false Frenchmen ! 56 

They now to fight are gone, 
Armour on armour shone, 
Drum now to drum did groan, — 
To hear was wonder. 
204 



Agincourt 

That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shake ; 
Trumpet to trumpet spake, 

Thunder to thunder. 64 



Well it thine age became, 
O noble Erpingham. 
Which didst the signal aim 

To our hid forces ; 
When from a meadow by, 
Like a storm suddenly 
The English archery 

Stuck the French horses, r^ 

With Spanish yew so strong. 
Arrows a cloth-yard long 
That like to serpents stung, 

Piercing the weather ; 
None from his fellow starts, 
But playing manly parts, 
And like true English hearts. 

Stuck close together. 80 

When down their bows they threw, 
And forth their bilbos drew. 
And on the French they flew, 

Not one was tardy ; 
Arms were from shoulders sent, 
Scalps to the teeth were rent. 
Down the French peasants went. 

Our men were hardy. ^S 

205 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

This while our noble king, 
His broad sword brandishing, 
Down the French host did ding, 

As to o'er-whelm it ; 
And many a deep wound lent, 
His arms with blood besprent, 
And many a cruel dent 

Bruised his helmet. 96 

Gloster, that duke so good, 
Next of the royal blood, 
For famous England stood 

With his brave brother; 
Clarence, in steel so bright, 
Though but a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious fight 

Scarce such another. ^04 

Warwick in blood did wade, 
Oxford the foe invade. 
And cruel slaughter made 

Still as they ran up : 
Suffolk his axe did ply, 
Beaumont and Willoughby 
Bare them right doughtily, 

Ferrers and Fanhope. i" 

Upon Saint Crispin's Day 
Fought was this noble fray, 
Which fame did not delay 
To England to carry : 



Boadicea 

O when shall English men 
With such acts fill a pen, 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harry! ^' 

1605, Michael Drayton. 



BOADICEA 

When the British warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought, with an indignant mien. 

Counsel of her country's gods, 4 

Sage beneatfe the spreading oak 

Sat the Druid, hoary chief ; 
Every burning word he spoke 

Full of rage and full of grief: ^ 

" Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
'T is because resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongues, " 

" Rome shall perish, — write that word 
In the blood that she has spilt ; 
Perish, hopeless and abhorred, 
Deep in ruin as in guilt. ^^ 

*' Rome, for empire far renowned. 
Tramples on a thousand states ; 
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, — 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 20 

207 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Other Romans shall arise, 

Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
Harmony the path to fame. -4 

" Then the progeny that springs 
From the forests of our land, 
Armed with thunder, clad with wings, 
Shall a wider world command. 28 

*' Regions Csesar never knew 
Thy posterity shall sway. 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they." 3- 

Such the bard's prophetic words. 

Pregnant with celestial fire, 
Bending as he swept the chords 

Of his sweet but awful lyre. 3^ 

She. with all a monarch's pride, 
Felt them in her bosom glow ; 

Rushed to battle, fought and died, — 

Dying, hurled them at the foe. 40 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 

Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 

Empire is on us bestowed. 

Shame and ruin wait for you ! -1 ^ 

1782. WUUam Coii'l'^r. 



208 



BONNY DUNDEE 

To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se 
who spoke, 
" Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns 
to be broke ; 
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me. 
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 4 
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle your horses and call up your 

men ; 
Come open the West Port and let me gang 

free. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of Bonny 
Dundee ! " ^ 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 
The bells are rung backward, the drums they 

are beat ; 
But the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en 

let him be, 
The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of 

Dundee." i- 

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the 

Bow, 
Pik carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
209 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

But the young plants of grace they looked 

couthie and slee, 
Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny 

Dundee! i6 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket 

was crammed, 
As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged ; 
There was spite in each look, there was fear 

in each e'e. 
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny 

Dundee. 20 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had 
spears, 

And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; 

But they shrunk to close-heads and the cause- 
way was free, 

At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee, 24 

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa 
words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee," ^8 

The Gordon demands of him which way he 
goes — 
" Where'er shall direct me the shade of Mon- 
trose ! 
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings 

of me. 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 32 
210 



Bonny Dundee 

"' There are hills beyond Pentland and lands be- 
yond Forth, 

If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chiefs 
in the North ; 

There are wild Dunie wassals three thousand 
times three, 

Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny 

Dundee. 36 

" There 's brass on the target of barkened bull- 
hide ; 

There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles be- 
side ; 

The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall 
flash free, 

At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 40 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I '11 couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your 

glee, ■ 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and 

me ! " 44 

He waved his proud hand and the trumpets 
were blown. 

The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen 
rode on. 

Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's 
lee 

Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dun- 
dee. 45 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saddle the horses and call up the 

men ; 
Come open your gates and let me gae free. 
For it 's up with the bonnets of Bonny 

Dundee! 52 

1825. 1830. Sir Walter Scott. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM 

Our bugles sang truce, — for the night-cloud 
had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the 
sky ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground over- 
powered, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to 
die. 4 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the 
slain ; 
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw. 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it 

again. ^ 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful 
array. 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 
212 



The Soldier's Dream 

'T was autumn, — and sunshine arose on the 
way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed 
me back. ^^ 

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 
In life's morning march, when my bosom was 
young ; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 
And knew the sweet strain that the corn- 
reapers sung. ^6 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I 
swore. 
From my home and my weeping friends never 
to part ; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of 
heart. 20 

Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and 
worn ! " 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to 
stay ; 
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn. 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted 
away. 24 

1800. Thomas Campbell. 



213 



HOHENLINDEN 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; 
And dark as winter was the flow 

Of Iser, rolling rapidly, 4 

But Linden saw another sight, 

When the drum beat, at dead of night, 

Commanding fires of death to light 

The darkness of her scenery. 8 

By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neigh'd 

To join the dreadful revelry. i- 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven, 

Far flash'd the red artillery. ^6 

But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 

Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 2<> 

2T4 



The Battle of the Baltic 

'T is morn, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 

Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. -4 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave. 

And charge with all thy chivalry ! -8 

Few, few shall part, where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet 

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 2>2 

iSoo. Thomas Campbell. 



THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 

Of Nelson and the North, 

Sing the glorious day's renown. 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown. 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 

By each gun the lighted brand, 

In a bold determined hand. 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on.— 9 

Like leviathans afloat. 
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 
While the sign of battle flew 
On the lofty British line: 

215 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

It was ten of April morn by the chime: 

As they drifted on their path, 

There was silence deep as death ; 

And the boldest held his breath 

For a time. — ^^ 



But the might of England flush'd 
To anticipate the scene ; 
And her van the fleeter rush'd 
O'er the deadly space between. 
" Hearts of oak ! " our captains cried, when 
each gun 
From its adamantine lips 
Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
Like the hurricane eclipse 
Of the sun. ^7 

Again ! again ! again ! 

And the havoc did not slack, 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back ; — 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom : — 

Then ceased — and all is wail, 

As they strike the shatter'd sail; 

Or, in conflagration pale, 

Light the gloom. ■SS 

Out spoke the victor then. 
As he hail'd them o'er the wave : 
" Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 
And we conquer but to save: — 
216 



The Battle of the Baltic 

So peace instead of death let us bring; 

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 

With the crews, at England's feet, 

And make submission meet 

To our King." — 45 

Then Denmark bless'd our chief, 

That he gave her wounds repose ; 

And the sounds of joy and grief 

From her people wildly rose. 

As Death withdrew his shades from the day. 

While the sun look'd smiling bright 

O'er a wide and woful sight, 

M'^here the fires of funeral light 

Died away. 54 

Now joy, old England, raise! 

For the tidings of thy might. 

By the festal cities' blaze, 

Wliilst the wine-cup shines in light ; 

And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 

Let us think of them that sleep 

Full many a fathom deep. 

By thy wild and stormy steep, 

Elsinore ! 63 

Brave hearts ! to Briton's pride 

Once so faithful and so true, 

On the deck of fame that died ; 

With the gallant good Riou : 

Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their 



217 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

While the billow mournful rolls, 
And the mermaid's song condoles, 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave!— 72 

1809. Thomas Campbell. 



AFTER BLENHEIM 

It was a summer evening. 

Old Kaspar's work was done, 
And he before his cottage door 

Was sitting in the sun, 
And by him sported on the green 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 6 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivulet 
In playing there had found ; 

He came to ask what he had found 

That was so large, and smooth, and round. ^^ 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy^ 

Who stood expectant by; 
And then the old man shook his head, 
And with a natural sigh, 
" 'T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
" Who fell in the great victory. 18 

** I find them in the garden. 

For there 's many here about ; 
218 



30 



After Blenheim 

And often when I go to plough, 

The ploughshare turns them out ! 
For many thousand men," said he, 
' Were slain in that great victory." 

' Now tell us what 't was all about," 

Young Peterkin, he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
' Now tell us all about the war, 
And what they fought each other for." 

' It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
" Who put the French to rout ; 
But what they fought each other for, 

I could not well make out ; 
But every body said," quoth he, 

' That 't was a famous victory. 

' My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by ; 
They burnt his dwelling to the ground. 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 
Nor had he where to rest his head. 



With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide. 
And many a childing mother then, 

And new-born baby died ; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 4» 

219 



36 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" They say it was a shocking sight 
After the field was won ; 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun ; 
But things Hke that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 5* 

** Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, 

And our good Prince Eugene." 
" Why 't was a very wicked thing ! " 

Said little Wilhelmine. 
" Nay . . nay . . my little girl," quoth he, 
" It was a famous victory. 60 

" And every body praised the Duke 

Who this great fight did win." 
" But what good came of it at last ? " 

Quoth little Peterkin. 
" Why that I cannot tell," said he, 
" But 't was a famous victory." ^6 

j^g8. Robert Southey. 



IVRY 

A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all 

glories are ! 
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry 

of Navarre ! 

220 



Ivry 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and 

of dance, 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, 

oh pleasant land of France! 
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud 

city of the waters, 5 

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy 

mourning daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in 

our joy, 
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who 

wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the 

chance of war. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of 

Navarre. ^° 



Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the 

dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in 

long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel 

peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's 

Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the 

curses of our land; is 

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a trun- 
cheon in his hand : 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of 

Seine's empurpled flood, 

221 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And good Coligni's hoary hair aM dabbled with 

his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules 

the fate of war, 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of 

Navarre. 20 

The King is come to marshal us, in all his ar- 
mour drest, 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his 

gallant crest. 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in 

his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was 

stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from.' 

wing to wing, -5 

Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save 

our Lord the King ! " 
' And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well 

he may. 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody 

fray, 
Press where ye see my white plume shine, 

amidst the ranks of war, 
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of 

Navarre." 30 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the 

mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and 

roaring culverin. 

222 



Ivry 

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint 
Andre's plain, 

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 
Almayne. 

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentle- 
men of France, 35 

Charge for the golden lilies, — upon them with 
the lance. 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thou- 
sand spears in rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind 
the snow-white crest ; 

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while 
like a guiding star 

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet 
of Navarre. 40 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours. May- 

enne hath turned his rein. 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish 

count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before 

a Biscay gale ; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and 

flags, and cloven mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and, all 

along our van, 45 

" Remember Saint Bartholomew," was passed 

from man to man. 

But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman 
is my foe : 

22-^ 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Down, down with every foreigner, but let your 
brethren go." 

Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship 
or in war, 

As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the sol- 
dier of Navarre? so 

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who 

fought for France to-day ; 
And many a lordly banner God gave them for 

a prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in 

fight ; 
And the good Lord of Rosny has ta'en the 

cornet white. 
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath 

ta'en, 55 

The cornet white, with crosses black, the flag 

of false Lorraine. 
Up with it high ; unfurl it wide ; that all the 

host may know 
How God hath humbled the proud house which 

wrought His church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their 

loudest point of war. 
Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry 

of Navarre. 60 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lu- 
cerne ; 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who 
never shall return. 

224 



Song of Marion's Men 

Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican 

pistoles, 
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy 

poor spearmen's souls. 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that 

your arms be bright ; 65 

Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch 

and ward to-night. 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God 

hath raised the slave. 
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the 

valour of the brave. 
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all 

glories are ; 
And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry 

of Navarre. 7° 

1824. Lord Macaulay. 



SONG OF MARION'S MEN 

Our band is few but true and tried. 

Our leader frank and bold ; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood, 

Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 
225 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. i 



Wo to the English soldiery 

That little dread us near ! 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear : 
When, waking to their tents on fire. 

They grasp their arms in vain, 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 



Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil : 
We talk the battle over. 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and shout, 

As if a hunt were up, 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 
With merry songs we mock the wind 

That in the pine-top grieves, 
And slumber long and sweetly 

On beds of oaken leaves. 36 

226 



Song of Marion's Men 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'T is life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night-wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment— and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 48 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 

Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton, 

For ever, from our shore. 60 

1831. William Cullen Bryant. 



227 



A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH 
FLEET 

OCTOBER, 1746 

A FLEET with flags arrayed 

Sailed from the port of Brest, 
And the Admiral's ship displayed 

The signal : " Steer southwest." 
For this Admiral D'Anville 

Had sworn by cross and crown 
To ravage with fire and steel 

Our helpless Boston Town. 

There were rumors in the street, 

In the houses there was fear 
Of the coming of the fleet. 

And the danger hovering near. 
And while from mouth to mouth 

Spread the tidings of dismay, 
I stood in the Old South, 

Saying humbly : " Let us pray ! 

" O Lord ! we would not advise ; 
But if in thy Providence 
A tempest should arise 

To drive the French Fleet hence, 
228 



A Ballad of the French Fleet 

And scatter it far and wide, 

Or sink it in the sea, 
We should be satisfied, 

And thine the glory be." ^4 

This was the prayer I made, 

For my soul was all on flame. 
And even as I prayed 

The answering tempest came ; 
It came with a mighty power, 

Shaking the windows and walls, 
And tolling the bell in the tower, 

As it tolls at funerals. 3^ 



The lightning suddenly 

Unsheathed its flaming sword, 
And I cried : '' Stand still, and see 

The salvation of the Lord ! " 
The heavens were black with cloud, 

The sea was white with hail. 
And ever more fierce and loud 

Blew the October gale. 40 

The fleet it overtook, 

And the broad sails in the van 
Like the tents of Cushan shook, 

Or the curtains of Midian. 
Down on the reeling decks 

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas ; 
Ah, never were there wrecks 

So pitiful as these ! 48 

229 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Like a potter's vessel broke 

The great ships of the line ; 
They were carried away as a smoke, 

Or sank Hke lead in the brine. 
O Lord ! before thy path 

They vanished and ceased to be, 
When thou didst walk in wrath 

With thine horses through the sea ! s^ 

187^. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



CARMEN BELLICOSUM 

In their ragged regimentals. 
Stood the old Continentals, 

Yielding not, 
While the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 
Cannon-shot ; 
When the files 
Of the isles. 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the 
banner of the rampant 
Unicorn ; 
And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the 
roll of the drummer 
Through the morn ! 

Then with eyes to the front all. 
And with guns horizontal. 
Stood our sires ; 
230 



Carmen Bellicosum 

While the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly- 
Blazed the fires : 
As the roar 
On the shore 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green- 
sodded acres 
Of the plain ; 
And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black 
gunpowder, 
Cracking amain ! 24 



Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 

Cannoneers, 
And the villainous saltpetre 
Rang a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears : 
As the swift 
Storm-drift, 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards' 
clangor 
On our flanks. 
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old- 
fashioned fire 
Through the ranks ! 36 



Then the bare-headed colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 
Powder-cloud ; 
231 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And his broad sword was swinging, 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet-loud ; 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew, 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of 
the leaden 
Rifle-breath ; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron 
six-pounder. 
Hurling death! 48 

tS4g. Guy Humphreys McMaster. 



MONTEREY 

We were not many, we who stood 

Before the iron sleet that day; 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if but he could 

Have been with us at Monterey. 5 

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 10 

And on, still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stept. 
Still charging on the guns which swept 

The slippery streets of Monterey. ^5 

232 



The Black Regiment 

The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay. 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast, 
Stormed hom.e the towers of Monterey. 



20 



Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play; 
Where orange-boughs above their grave, 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 25 

We are not many, we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confessed 
He 'd rather share their warrior rest 
Than not have been at Monterey? 3o 

1847? Charles Fenno Hoffman. 



THE BLACK REGIMENT 

MAY 27TH, 1863 

Dark as the clouds of even. 
Ranked in the western heaven, 
Waiting the breath that lifts 
All the dead mass, and drifts 
Tempest and falling brand 
Over a ruined land; — 

233 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

So still and orderly, 

Arm to arm, knee to knee. 

Waiting the great event, 

Stands the black regiment. i 



Down the long dusky line 

Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ; 

And the bright bayonet, 

Bristling and firmly set, 

Flashed with a purpose grand, 

Long ere the sharp command 

Of the fierce rolling drum 

Told them their time had come, 

Told them what work was sent 

For the black regiment. ^o 

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
" Though death and hell betide. 

Let the whole nation see 

If we are fit to be 

Free in this land ; or bound 

Down, like the whining hound — 

Bound with red stripes of pain 

In our cold chains again ! " 

Oh ! what a shout there went 

From the black regiment 1 3o 

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke, 
Onward the bondmen broke; 
Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
Vainly opposed their rush, 

234 



The Black Regiment 

Through the wild battle's crush, 

With but one thought aflush, 

Driving their lords like chaff, 

In the guns' mouths they laugh; 

Or at the slippery brands 

Leaping with open hands, 

Down they tear man and horse, 

Down in their awful course ; 

Trampling with bloody heel 

Over the crashing steel, 

All their eyes forward bent, 

Rushed the black regiment. 46 

' Freedom ! " their battle-cry, — 
' Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 

Ah ! and they meant the word, 

Not as with us 't is heard, 

Not a mere party shout : 

They gave their spirits out ; 

Trusted the end to God, 

And on the gory sod 

Rolled in triumphant blood. 

Glad to strike one free blow, 

Whether for weal or woe ; 

Glad to breathe one free breath. 

Though on the lips of death. 

Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 

That they might fall again. 

So they could once more see 

That burst to liberty! 

This was what " freedom " lent 

To the black regiment. 65 

235 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
But they are resting well ; 
Scourges and shackles strong 
Never shall do them wrong. 
Oh, to the living few, 
Soldiers, be just and true! 
Hail them as comrades tried ; , 

Fight with them side by side; 
Never, in field or tent, 
Scorn the black regiment ! 75 

1864. George Henry Boker. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. ' 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep. 

Fair as a garden of the L^rd 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, ^ 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall; 

Over the mountains winding down. 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. ^■ 

236 



Barbara Frietchie 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 

Of noon looked doAvn, and saw not one. ^6 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 20 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. ^4 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced ; the old flag met his sight. 

Halt ! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
Fire ! "—out blazed the rifle-blast. 28 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 

Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 32 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

237 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 36 



A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 

To life at that woman's deed and word : 40 

' Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 44 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 48 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 52 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 

Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! s6 

238 



Incident of the French Camp 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ; 



And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 60 

1863. John Greenleaf Whittier. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH 
CAMP 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day ; 
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how. 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow, 

Oppressive with its mind. 8 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall. 
Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 16 

239 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Then off there flung in smiHng joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 24 

" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 
We 've got you Ratisbon ! 
The marshal 's in the market-place, 

And you '11 be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 
Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed ; his 
plans 
Soared up again like fire. 32 

The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother-eagle's eye 
When her bruised eaglet breathes ; 
" You 're wounded ! " " Nay," his soldier's 
pride 
Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I 'm killed, sire ! " And his chief beside, 
Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 

1842. Robert Browning. 



240 



THE THREE TROOPERS 

Into the Devil tavern 

Three booted troopers strode, 
From spur to feather spotted and splash'd 

With the mud of a winter road. 
In each of their cups they dropp'd a crust, 

And star'd at the guests with a frown ; 
Then drew their swords, and roar'd for a toast, 
" God send this Crum-well-down ! " 8 

A bhie smoke rose from their pistol locks, 
Their sword blades were still wet ; 

There were long red smears on their jerkins of 
buff, 
As the table they overset. 

Then into their cups they stirr'd the crusts, 
And curs'd old London town ; 

Then wav'd their swords, and drank with a 
stamp, 

"God send this Crum-well-down! " ^6 

The 'prentice dropp'd his can of beer. 

The host turn'd pale as a clout ; 
The ruby nose of the toping squire 

Grew white at the wild men's shout. 
241 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Then into their cups they flung the crusts, 

And show'd their teeth with a frown ; 
They flash'd their swords as they gave the toast, 
" God send this Crum-well-down ! " 24 

The gambler dropp'd his dog's-ear'd cards, 

The waiting-women scream'd, 
As the Hght of the fire, like stains of blood, 

On the wild men's sabres gleam'd. 
Then into their cups they splash'd the crusts. 

And curs'd the fool of a town, 
And leap'd on the table, and roar'd a toast, 
" God send this Crum-well-down ! " 3-2 

Till on a sudden fire-bells rang, 
And the troopers sprang to horse ; 

The eldest mutter'd between his teeth, 
Hot curses — deep and coarse. 

In their stirrup cups they flung the crusts, 
And cried as they spurr'd through town, 

With their keen swords drawn and their pis- 
tols cock'd, 

" God send this Crum-well-down ! " 40 

Away they dash'd through Temple Bar, 

Their red cloaks flowing free. 
Their scabbards clash'd, each back-piece shone — 

None lik'd to touch the three. 
The silver cups that held the crusts 

They flung to the startled town, 
Shouting again, with a blaze of swords, 
" God send this Crum-well-down ! " 48 

1857. George Walter Thornbury. 

242 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT 
BRIGADE 

Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
*' Forward, the Light Brigade ! 
Charge for the guns ! " he said : 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 8 

■" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismayed? 
Not though the soldier knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die : 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. ^7 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered ; 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well ; 

243 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

. Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 

Rode the six hundred. ^6 



Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air 
Sabring the gunners there. 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right through the line they broke : 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke, 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the six hundred. 38 

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 
Cannon behind them 

Volleyed and thundered : 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, — 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 49 

When can their glory fade ? 
O the wild charge they made ! 
All the world wondered. 
244 



The Heavy Brigade 

Honour the charge they made ! 
Honour the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 55 

1854. Lord Tennyson. 



THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY 
BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA 

OCTOBER 25, 1854 

The charge of the gallant three hundred, the 

Heavy Brigade ! 
Down the hill, down the hill, thou3ands of 

Russians, 
Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley — 

and stay'd ; 
For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were 

riding by 
When the points of the Russian lances arose in 

the sky ; 
And he call'd " Left wheel into line ! " and they 

wheel'd and obey'd. 
Then he look'd at the host that had halted he 

knew not why, 
And he turn'd half round, and he bade his 

trumpeter sound 
To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he 

• waved his blade 
To the gallant three hundred whose glory will 

never die — 

245 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' Follow," and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, 
Follow'd the Heavy Brigade. ^~ 



The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the 

might of the fight ! 
Thousands of horsemen had gather'd there on 

the height. 
With a wing push'd out to the left and a 

wing to the right. 
And who shall escape if they close? but he 

dashed up alone 
Thro' the great gray slope of men, 
Sway'd his sabre, and held his own 
Like an Englishman there and then ; 
All in a m6ment follow'd with force 
Three that were next in their fiery course, 
Wedged themselves in between horse and horse. 
Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they 

had made — 
Four amid thousands ! and up the hill, up the 

hill, 
Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy 

Brigade. 25 

Fell like a cannonshot, 
Burst like a thunderbolt, 
Crash'd like a hurricane. 
Broke thro' the mass from below, 
Drove thro' the midst of the foe. 
Plunged up and down, to and fro, 
Rode flashing blow upon blow, 
246 



The Heavy Brigade 

Brave Inniskillens and Greys 

Whirling their sabres in circles of light ! 

And some of us, all in amaze, 

Who were held for a while from the fight, 

And were only standing at gaze. 

When the dark-muffled Russian crowd 

Folded its wings from the left and the right, 

And roird them around like a cloud, — 

O mad for the charge and the battle were we, 

When our own good redcoats sank from sight, 

Like drops of blood in a dark-gray sea, 

And we turn'd to each other, whispering, all 

dismay'd. 
Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett's 

Brigade ! " 45 



" Lost one and all " were the words 
Mutter'd in our dismay; 
But they rode like Victors and Lords 
Thro' the forest of lances and swords 
In the heart of the Russian hordes. 
They rode, or they stood at bay — 
Struck with the sword-hand and slew, 
Down with the bridle-hand drew 
The foe from the saddle and threw 
Underfoot there in the fray — 
Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock 
In the wave of a stormy day ; 
Till suddenly shock upon shock 
Stagger'd the mass from without. 
Drove it in wild disarray, 
247 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a 

shout, 
And the foeman surged, and waver'd, and 

reel'd 
Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of the 

field, 
And over the brow and away. 64 

Glory to each and to all, and the charge that 

they made ! 
Glory to all the three hundred, and all the 

Brigade ! 66 

1882. Lord Tennyson. 



THE REVENGE 

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville 

lay, 
And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying 

from far away ; 
Spanish ships of war at sea ! we have sighted 

fifty-three ! " 
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : " 'Fore 

God I am no coward ; 
But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are 

out of gear, 

248 



The Revenge 

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but 

follow quick. 
We are six ships of the line ; can we fight with 

fifty-three ? " 7 



Then spake Sir Richard Grenville : " I know 

you are no coward ; 
You fly them for a moment to fight with them 

again. 
But I 've ninety men and more that are lying 

sick ashore. 
I should count myself the coward if I left them, 

my Lord Howard, 
To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of 

Spain." i^ 



So Lord Howard past away with five ships of 

war that day, 
Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer 

heaven ; 
But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men 

from the land 
Very carefully and slow, 
Men of Bideford in Devon, 
And we laid them on the ballast down below ; 
For we brought them all aboard, 
And they blest him in their pain, that they were 

not left to Spain, 
To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the 

glory of the Lord. ■21 

249 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship 

and to fight, 
And he sailed away from Flores till the 

Spaniard came in sight, 
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the 

weather bow. 
" Shall we fight or shall we fly? 
Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 
For to fight is but to die ! 
There '11 be little of us left by the time this sun 

be set." 
And Sir Richard said again : " We be all good 

English men. 
Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children 

of the devil, 
For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil 

yet." 31 

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we 

roar'd a hurrah, and so 
The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart 

of the foe. 
With her hundred fighters on deck, and her 

ninety sick below ; 
For half of their fleet to the right and half to 

the left were seen. 
And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long 

sea-lane between. 36 

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from 

their decks and laugh'd, 
Thousands of their seamen made mock at the 

mad little craft 

250 



The Revenge 

Running on and on, till delay'd 

By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fif- 
teen hundred tons, 

And up-shadowing high above us with her 
yawning tiers of guns. 

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. 42 

And while now the great San Philip hung 

above us like a cloud 
Whence the thunderbolt will fall 
Long and loud, 
Four galleons drew away 
From the Spanish fleet that day, 
And two upon the larboard and two upon the 

starboard lay, 
And the battle-thunder broke from them all. 49 

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought 

herself and went. 
Having that within her womb that had left her 

ill content ; 
And the rest they came aboard us, and they 

fought us hand to hand, 
For a dozen times they came with their pikes 

and musqueteers, 
And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog 

that shakes his ears 
When he leaps from the water to the land. 55 

And the sun went down, and the stars came out 

far over the summer sea, 
But never a moment ceased the fight of the one 

and the fifty-three. 

25; I 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their 

high-built galleons came, 
Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her 

battle-thunder and flame ; 
Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back 

with her dead and her shame. 
For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, 

and so could fight us no more — 
God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the 

world before? 62 

For he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 

Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck ; 

And it chanced that, when half of the short 

summer night was gone. 
With a grisly wound to be drest he had left 

the deck, 
But a bullet struck him that was dressing it 

suddenly dead. 
And himself he was wounded again in the side 

and the head, 
And he said, " Fight on ! fight on ! " 69 

And the night went down, and the sun smiled 

out far over the summer sea. 
And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay 

round us all in a ring; 
But they dared not touch us again, for they 

fear'd that we still could sting, 
So they watch'd what the end would be. 
And we had not fought them in vain, 
But in perilous plight were we, 
Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 
252 



The Revenge 

And half of the rest of us maim'd for life 
In the crash of the cannonades and the des- 
perate strife ; 
And the sick men down in the hold were most 

of them stark and cold, 
And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the 

powder was all of it spent; 
And the masts and the rigging were lying over 

the side ; 
But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: 
" We have fought such a fight for a day and a 

night 
As may never be fought again ! 
We have won great glory, my men! 
And a day less or more 
At sea or ashore, 
We die — does it matter when? 
Sink me the ship, Master Gunner — sink her, 

split her in twain ! 
Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands 

of Spain ! " 9o 

And the gunner said, " Ay, ay," but the seamen 
made reply : 
" We have children, we have wives, 

And the Lord hath spared our lives. 

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we 
yield, to let us go; 

We shall live to fight again and to strike an- 
other blow." 

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded 
to the foe. 96 

253 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship 

bore him then, 
Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir 

Richard caught at last, 
And they praised him to his face with their 

courtly foreign grace ; 
But he rose upon their decks, and he cried : 
' I have fought for Queen and Faith like a 

valiant man and true ; 
I have only done my duty as a man is bound 

to do. 
With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville 

die ! " 
And he fell upon their decks, and he died. ^°4 



And they stared at the dead that had been so 

valiant and true. 
And had holden the power and glory of Spain 

so cheap 
That he dared her with one little ship and his 

English few ; 
Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught 

they knew, 
But they sank his body with honour down into 

the deep. 
And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier 

alien crew, 
And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd 

for her own ; 
When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd 

awoke from sleep, 

254 



The Revenge 

And the water began to heave and the weather 

to moan, 
And or ever that evening ended a great gale 

blew. 
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an 

earthquake grew, 
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and 

their masts and their flags, 
And the whole sea plunged and fell on the 

shot-shatter'd navy of Spain, 
And the little Revenge herself went down by 

the island crags 
To be lost evermore in the main, 119 

1878. Lord Tennyson. 



255 



OF DEATH AND SORROW 



FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 

I WISH I were where Helen lies! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
O that I were where Helen lies, 
On fair Kirconnell L2e! 

Curst be the heart that thought the 

thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot. 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
And died to succour me. 

thinkna ye my heart was sair, 
When my love dropt down and spak nae 

mair ! 
There did she swoon wi' meikle care, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

As I went down the water-side. 
None but my foe to be my guide, 
None but my foe to be my guide, i 

On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

I lighted down, my sword did draw, 

1 hacked him in pieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

For her sake that died for me. 2 

259 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Helen fair, beyond compare ! 

1 '11 make a garland of thy hair, 
Shall bind my heart for evermair, 

Until the day I die. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 25 

Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " — 

Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 

If I were with thee, I were blest, 30 

Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, 
On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

1 wish my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 35 

On fair Kirconnell Lee. 

I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies. 

For her sake that died for me. 40 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH 

When Robin Hood and Little John 
Down a down, a doivn, a down 
Went o'er yon bank of broom. 

Said Robin Hood bold to Little John, 

260 



Robin Hood's Death 

' We have shot for many a pound. 5 

Hey, down, a down, a down. 

' But I am not able to shoot one shot more, 

My broad arrows will not flee; 
But I have a cousin lives down below, 

Please God, she will bleed me." lo 

Now Robin he is to fair Kirkley gone, 

As fast as he can win ; 
But before he came there, as we do hear, 

He was taken very ill. 

And when he came to fair Kirkley-hall, ^5 

He knocked all at the ring, 
But none was so ready as his cousin herself 

For to let bold Robin in. 

' Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," 
she said, 
"And drink some beer with me?" 20 

No, I will neither eat nor drink, 
Till I am blooded by thee." 

Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said, 
" Which you did never see, 
And if you please to walk therein, 25 

You blooded by me shall be." 

She took him by the lily-white hand. 

And led him to a private room. 
And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, 

While one drop of blood would run down. 30 
261 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry, 

She blooded him in the vein of the arm, 
And locked him up in the room ; 

Then did he bleed all the live-long day, 
Until the next day at noon. 

He then bethought him of a casement there, 35 

Thinking for to get down ; 
But was so weak he could not leap, 

He could not get him down. 

He then bethought him of his busle-horn, 
Which hung low down to his knee ; 4o 

He set his horn unto his mouth. 
And blew out weak blasts three. 

Then Little John, when hearing him, 
As he sat under a tree, 
" I fear my master is now near dead, 45 

He blows so wearily." 

Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone, 

As fast as he can dree ; 
But when he came to Kirkley-hall, 

He broke locks two or three: So 

Until he came bold Robin to see, 
Then he fell on his knee ; 
" A boon, a boon," cries Little John, 
" Master, I beg of thee." 

"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood, 55 
"Little John, [thou] begs of me?" 
262 



6o 



Robin Hood's Death 

" It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, 
And all their nunnery." 

" Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, 
" That boon I '11 not grant thee ; 
I never hurt woman in all my life, 
Nor man in woman's company. 



** I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 

Nor at mine end shall it be ; 
But give me my bent bow in my hand, ^s 

And a broad arrow I '11 let flee ; 
And where this arrow is taken up, 

There shall my grave digged be. 

" Lay me a green sod under my head, 

And another at my feet ; 7o 

And lay my bent bow by my side. 

Which was my music sweet ; 
And make my grave of gravel and green. 
Which is most right and meet. 

" Let me have length and breadth enough, 75 
With a green sod under my head ; 
That they may say, when I am dead, 
Here lies bold Robin Hood." 

These words they readily granted him. 

Which did bold Robin please : 8o 

And there they buried bold Robin Hood, 
Within the fair Kirkleys. 

Child, Pop. Bal, No. 120B. 
263 



BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL 

Hie upon Hielands and low upon Tay, 
Bonnie George Campbell rade out on a day. 

Saddled and bridled and gallant rade he; 
Hame cam his guid horse, but never cam he. 

Out cam his auld mither greeting fu' sair, s 
And out cam his bonnie bride rivin' her hair. 

Saddled and bridled and booted rade he; 
Toom hame cam the saddle, but never cam he. 

My meadow lies green, and my corn is unshorn, 
My barn is to big, and my babie 's unborn." ^° 

Saddled and bridled and booted rade he ; 
Toom hame cam the saddle, but never cam he. 

Child, No. 210 (Motherwell's Version). 



LORD RANDAL 

O WHERE ha'e ye been. Lord Randal, my son? 
O where ha'e ye been, my handsome young 
man ? " 

264 



Lord Randal 

" I ha'e been to the wild wood ; mother, make my 
bed soon ; 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald He 
down." 4 

" Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my 
son? 
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young 
man ? " 
" I dined wi' my true-love ; mother, make my bed 
soon ; 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 
down." 8 

" What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my 
son? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome 
young man ? " 
" I gat eels boiled in broo' ; mother, make my bed 
soon ; 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 
down." 12 

" What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ran- 
dal, my son? 
What became of your bloodhounds, my hand- 
some young man? " 
" O they swelled and they died ; mother, make 
my bed soon ; 
For I 'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie 
down." i6 

265 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

' O I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son ! 
O I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young 
man ! " 
' O yes ! I am poisoned ; mother, make my bed 
soon ; 
For I 'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie 
down." 20 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL 

There lived a wife at Usher's Well, 

And a wealthy wife was she ; 
She had three stout and stalwart sons. 

And sent them o'er the sea. 

They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely ane, 
Whan word came to the carline wife, 

That her three sons were gane. 

They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely three, ' 

Whan word came to the carline wife. 
That her sons she'd never see. 

" I wish the wind may never cease, 
Nor fishes in the flood, 
Till my three sons come hame to me, ^ 

In earthly flesh and blood ! " 
266 



The Wife of Usher's Well 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

When nights are lang and mirk, 

The carline wife's three sons came hame, 
And their hats were o' the birk. 20 

It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 

Nor yet in ony sheugh ; 
But at the gates o' Paradise, 

That birk grew fair eneugh. 
***** 

" Blow up the fire, my maidens ! 25 

Bring water from the well ! 
For a' my house shall feast this night, 
Since my three sons are well." 

And she has made to them a bed, 

She 's made it large and wide ; 30 

And she 's ta'en her mantle her about, 

Sat down at the bed-side. 

***** 

Up then crew the red, red cock. 

And up and crew the gray ; 
The eldest to the youngest said, 35 

" 'T is time we were away." 

The cock he hadna crawed but once, 

And clapped his wings at a', 
Whan the youngest to the eldest said, 
" Brother, we must awa'. 40 

" The cock doth craw, the day doth daw', 
The channerin' worm doth chide ; 
2^7 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Gin we be missed out o' our place, 

A sair pain we maun bide. 4 



" Fare ye weel, my mother dear ! 
Fareweel to barn and byre! 
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass, 

That kindles my mother's fire." 48 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bcni. 



THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY 

Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, 
" And put on your armour so bright ; 
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine 
Was married to a lord under night. 

Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 5 

And put on your armour so bright, 

And take better care of your youngest sister, 
For your eldest 's awa' the last night." 

He 's mounted her on a milk-white steed. 

And himself on a dapple grey, ^o 

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, 
And lightly they rode away. 

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder. 

To see what he could see, 
And there he spied her seven brethren bold, ^S 

Come riding o'er the lee. 
268 



The Douglas Tragedy 

Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he 

said, 
" And hold my steed in your hand, 
Until that against your seven brethren bold, 
And your father, I mak a stand." 



20 



She held his steed in her milk-white hand, 

And never shed one tear, 
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', 

And her father hard fighting, who loved her 
so dear. 

O hold your hand, Lord William ! " she said, 25 
" For your strokes they are wond'rous sair ; 
True lovers I can get many a ane. 
But a father I can never get mair." 

O she 's ta'en out her handkerchief. 

It was o' the holland sae fine, 30 

And aye she dighted her father's bloody 
wounds. 
That were redder than the wine, 

chuse, O chuse. Lady Marg'ret," he said, 
" O whether will ye gang or bide? " 

1 '11 gang, I '11 gang, Lord William," she said, 35 
" For ye have left me no other guide." 

He 's lifted her on a milk-white steed, 

And himself on a dapple grey, 
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, 

And slowly they baith rade away. 40 

269 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

O they rade on, and on they rade, 
And a' by the light of the moon, 

Until they came to yon wan water, 
And there they lighted down. 



They lighted down to talc a drink 45 

Of the spring that ran sae clear ; 
And down the stream ran his gude heart's 
blood, 

And sair she 'gan to fear. 

Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, 
" For I fear that you are slain ! " 5" 

'T is naething but the shadow of my scarlet 
cloak, 
That shines in the water sae plain." 

O they rade on, and on they rade. 

And a' by the light of the moon. 
Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, 5S 

And there they lighted down. 



Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, 
" Get up, and let me in ! 
Get up, get up, lady mother ! " he says, 
" For this night my fair lady I 've win. 



60 



O mak my bed, lady mother," he says, 
" O mak it braid and deep ! 
And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back, 
And the sounder I will sleep." 
270 



The Twa Corbies 

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, 65 

Lady Marg'ret lang ere day — 
And all true lovers that go thegither, 

May they have mair luck than they ! 

Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk, 
Lady Margaret in Mary's quire ; 70 

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose. 
And out o' the knight's a brier. 

And they twa met, and they twa plat, 

And fain they wad be near ; 
And a' the warld might ken right weel, 75 

They were twa lovers dear. 

But bye and rade the Black Douglas, 

And wow but he was rough ! 
For he pulled up the bonny brier, 

And flang 't in St. Mary's Loch. 80 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



THE TWA CORBIES 

As I was walking all alane, 
I heard twa corbies making a mane : 
The tane unto the t' other say, 
Whar sail we gang and dine to-day? 

— In behint yon auld fail dyke 
I wot there lies a new-slain knight ; 
271 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And naebody kens that he hes there 
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 



" His hound is to the hunting gane, 
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
His lady 's ta'en another mate, 
So we may mak our dinner sweet. ^^ 

" Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane. 
And I '11 pike out his bonny blue e'en : 
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 

" We '11 theek our nest when it grows bare. i6 

" Mony a one for him makes mane, 
But nane sail ken whare he is gane: 
O'er his white banes, when they are bare. 
The wind sail blaw for evermair." ^o 

Scott, Minst. Scot. Bord. 



THE BRAES OF YARROW 

Late at een, drinkin' the wine. 

Or early in a mornin'. 
They set a combat them between, 

To fight it in the dawnin'. 

" O stay at hame, my noble lord ! 
O stay at hame, my marrow ! 
My cruel brother will you betray, 
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow." 
272 



The Braes of Yarrow 

" O fare ye weel, my lady gay ! 

fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 

For I maun gae, tho' I ne'er return 
Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow." ^^ 

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaimed his hair, 

As she had done before, O ; 
She belted on his noble brand, 

An' he 's awa to Yarrow. i6 

O he 's gane up yon high, high hill — 

1 wat he gaed wi' sorrow — 

An' in a den spied nine arm'd men, 
r the dowie houms o' Yarrow. 20 

" O are ye come to drink the wine. 
As ye hae doon before, O ? 
Or are ye come to wield the brand, 
On the bonnie banks o' Yarrow?" 24 

" I am no come to drink the wine, 
As I hae doon before, O, 
But I am come to wield the brand. 
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow." 28 

Four he hurt, an' five he slew, 
On the dowie houms o' Yarrow, 

Till that stubborn knight came him behind, 
An' ran his body thorrow. 32 

" Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, 
An' tell your sister Sarah 

273 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

To come an' lift her noble lord, 

Who 's sleepin' sound on Yarrow." 3^ 

" Yestreen I dream'd a dolef u' dream ; 
I kend there wad be sorrow ; 
I dream'd I pu'd the heather green, 
On the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 4o 

She gaed up yon high, high hill — 

I wat she gaed wi' sorrow — 
An' in a den spied nine dead men, 

On the dowie houms o' Yarrow. 44 

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaimed his hair. 

As oft she did before, O ; 
She drank the red blood frae him ran, 

On the dowie houms o' Yarrow. 48 

" O baud your tongue, my douchter dear, 
For what needs a' this sorrow? 
I '11 wed you on a better lord 
Than him you lost on Yarrow." 52 

" O baud your tongue, my father dear, 
An' dinna grieve your Sarah; 
A better lord was never born 

Than him I lost on Yarrow. 56 

" Tak hame your ousen, tak hame your kye. 
For they hae bred our sorrow ; 
I wiss that they had a' gane mad 

Whan they cam first to Yarrow." 6o 

Child, Pop. Bal., No. 214E. 
274 



THY BRAES WERE BONNY • 

** Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, 

When first on them I met my lover ; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 

When now thy waves his body cover ! 
For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
For never on thy banks shall I 

Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow. ^ 

"He promised me a milk-white steed 

To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
He promised me a little page 

To 'squire me to his father's towers ; 
He promised me a wedding-ring, — 

The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ;— 
Now he is wedded to his grave, 

Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow! i6 

*' Sweet were his words when last we met ; 

My passion I as freely told him ; 
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 

That I should never more behold him ! 
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 

It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 

And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow, 24 

275 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" His mother from the window look'd 
With all the longing of a mother ; 
His little sister weeping walk'd 

The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 
They sought him east, they sought him 
west, 
They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
They only saw the cloud of night. 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 32 

"No longer from thy window look — 

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 

Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
No longer seek him east or west, 

And search no more the forest thorough ; 
For, wandering in the night so dark. 

He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow. 40 

'' The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow — 
I '11 seek thy body in the stream. 

And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow." 
— The tear did never leave her cheek. 
No other youth becam.e her marrow; 
She found his body in the stream. 
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 48 
1781-2. John Logan. 



276 



A LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 

I 'vE heard the lilting at our ewe-milking, 
Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day ; 

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning— 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 4 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blithe lads are 
scorning, 
Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae ; 
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sab- 
bing. 
Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 8 

In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are 
jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray: 
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleech- 
ing— 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. ^^ 

At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roam- 
ing, 

'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie— 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. ^^ 

277 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the 
Border ! 
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the 
foremost, 
The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay. 20 

We hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking; 

Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 2+ 

1755- Jean Elliot. 



WE ARE SEVEN 

A SIMPLE Child, 

That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 

What should it know of death? 4 

I met a little cottage Girl : 

She was eight years old, she said ; 

Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 8. 

She had a rustic, woodland air. 

And she was wildly clad: 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair; 

— Her beauty made me glad. ^^ 

278 



We are Seven 

" Sisters and brothers, little Maid, 

How many may you be ? " 
" How many ? Seven in all," she said 

And wondering looked at me. ^6 

" And where are they ? I pray you tell." 
She answered, " Seven are we ; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. ^o 

" Two of us in the church-yard lie. 
My sister and my brother ; 
And in the church-yard cottage, I 

Dwell near them with my mother," 24 

" You say that two at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea, 
Yet ye are seven! — I pray you tell. 

Sweet Maid, how this may be." 28 

Then did the little Maid reply, 
" Seven boys and girls are we ; 
Two of us in the church-yard lie. 

Beneath the church-yard tree." 32 

" You run about, my little Maid, 
Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the church-yard laid. 

Then ye are only five." 36 

" Their graves are green, they may be seen," 
The little Maid replied, 
279 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

" Twelve steps or more from my mother's 
door, 
And they are side by side. 4o 



" My stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there I hem ; 
And there upon the ground I sit. 

And sing a song to them. 44 

" And often after sunset, Sir, 
When it is Hght and fair, 
I take my Httle porringer, 
And eat my supper there. 48 

" The first that died was sister Jane ; 
In bed she moaning lay. 
Till God released her of her pain ; 

And then she went away. 52 

" So in the church-yard she was laid ; 
And, when the grass was dry, 
Together round her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 56 

" And when the ground was white with 
snow, 
And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 
And he lies by her side." 60 

" How many are you, then," said I, 
" If they two are in heaven? " 
280 



Lucy Gray 

Quick was the little Maid's reply, 
'* O Master ! we are seven." 64 



" But they are dead ; those two are dead ! 
Their spirits are in heaven ! " 
'T was throwing words away ; for still 
The little Maid would have her will, 
And said, " Nay, we are seven ! " 68 

1798. William Wordszvorth. 



LUCY GRAY 

OR, SOLITUDE 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: 
And, when I crossed the wild, 

I chanced to see at break of day 
The solitary child. 

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; 

She dwelt on a wide moor, 
— The sweetest thing that ever grew 

Beside a human door ! 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
The hare upon the green ; 

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
Will never more be seen. 
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"To-night will be a stormy night — 
You to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern, Child, to light 

Your mother through the snow." i6 

" That, Father ! will I gladly do : 
'T is scarcely afternoon — 
The minster-clock has just struck two, 
And yonder is the moon ! " 20 

At this the Father raised his hook, 

And snapped a fagot-band; 
He plied his work; — and Lucy took 

The lantern in her hand. 24 

Not blither is the mountain roe: 

With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 

That rises up like smoke. 28 

The storm came on before its time : 

She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb : 

But never reached the town. 32 

The wretched parents all that night 

Went shouting far and wide; 
But there was neither sound nor sight 

To serve them for a guide. 36 

At day-break on the hill they stood 
That overlooked the moor; 
282 



Lucy Gray 

And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 
A furlong from their door. 40 



They wept — and, turning homeward, 

cried, 
" In heaven we all shall meet ; " 
— When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 44 

Then downwards from the steep hill's 
edge 

They tracked the footmarks small ; 
And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 

And by the long stone-wall ; 48 

And then an open field they crossed : 
The marks were still the same ; 

They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 

And to the bridge they came. 52 



They followed from the snowy bank 

Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into the middle of the plank; 

And further there were none! s6 



— Yet some maintain that to this day 

She is a living child; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 

Upon the lonesome wild. 60 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 

And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 
That whistles in the wind. 64 

1800. William Wordsworth. 



PROUD MAISIE 

From The Heart of Mid-Lothian 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush. 

Singing so rarely. 4 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird, 

When shall I marry me?" — 

" When six braw gentlemen 

Kirkward shall carry ye." 8 

" Who makes the bridal bed. 

Birdie, say truly?" — 
"• The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 12 

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 
'Welcome, proud lady.'" ^6 

!i8. Sir Walter Scott. 

284 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry ! 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry ! " — 

" Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water?" 

" O, I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 

And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. — 8 

"And fast before her father's men 
Three days we 've fled together. 
For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 12 

" His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 
Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

When they have slain her lover?" — 16 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight — 
"I '11 go, my chief— I 'm ready: — 
It is not for your silver bright ; 

But for your winsome lady : ^o 

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" And by my word ! the bonny bird 
In danger shall not tarry ; 
So though the waves are raging white, 
I '11 row you o'er the ferry." — 2. 



By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water-wraith was shrieking; 

And in the scowl of heaven each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 28 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 
And as the night grew drearer, 

Adown the glen rode arm^d men, 

Their trampling sounded nearer. — 3^ 

' O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
" Though tempests round us gather ; 
I '11 meet the raging of the skies. 
But not an angry father." — 36 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, O ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gather'd o'er her. 40 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing: 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 44- 
286 



The Sands of Dee 

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and 
shade, 

His child he did discover : — 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 48 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief 
" Across this stormy water : 
And I '11 forgive your Highland chief, 
My daughter!— O my daughter! " 52 

'T was vain : the loud waves lash'd the 
shore, 

Return or aid preventing : 
The waters wild went o'er his child, 

And he was left lamenting. 56 

1804. Thomas Campbell. 



THE SANDS OF DEE 

O Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home, 
Across the sands of Dee ! " 
The western wind was wild and dank with 
foam, 
And all alone went she. 6 

The western tide crept up along the sand, 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 
287 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

As far as eye could see. 
The rolling mist came down and hid the land : 
And never home came she. 12 



Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress of golden hair, 
A drowned maiden's hair 
Above the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 

Among the stakes on Dee." 18 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam. 
The cruel, crawling foam, 
The cruel, hungry foam. 
To her grave beside the sea : 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle 
home 
Across the sands of Dee. 24 

1849. Charles Kings ley. 



THE THREE FISHERS 

Three fishers went sailing away to the West, 
Away to the West as the sun went down ; 
Each thought on the woman who loved him the 
best. 
And the children stood watching them out of 
the town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep, 
And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Tholigh the harbour bar be moaning. 



High-tide on Coast of Lincolnshire 

Three wives sat up in the Hght-house tower, 

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
shower. 
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and 
brown. 
But men must work, and women must weep, 
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 

And the harbour bar be moaning. M 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 

In the morning gleam as the tide went down. 
And the women are weeping and wringing their 
hands 
For those who will never come home to the 
town ; 
For men must work, and women must weep, 
And the sooner it 's over, the sooner to sleep ; 

And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. 21 
1851. Charles Kingsley. 



THE HIGH-TIDE ON THE COAST 
OF LINCOLNSHIRE, [time, 1571.] 

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers ran by two, by three ; 
" Pull ! if ye never pulled before; 

Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 
" Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 
Ply all your changes, all your swells ! 

Play uppe The Brides of Enderby! " 7 

28g 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Men say it was a " stolen tyde," — 
The Lord that sent it, he knows all, 

But in myne ears doth still abide 
The message that the bells let fall ; 

And there was naught of strange, beside 

The flights of mews and peewits pied, 

By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. ^4 

I sat and spun within the doore ; 

My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes : 
The level sun, like ruddy ore, 

Lay sinking in the barren skies ; 
And dark against day's golden death 
She moved where Lindis wandereth, — 
My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 21 

' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling. 

Ere the early dews were falling, 

Farre away I heard her song. 
' Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; 

Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 
Floweth, floweth, 

From the meads where melick groweth, 

Faintly came her milking-song. 29 

' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " calling, 
' For the dews will soone be falling ; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow ! 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ! 
Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot ! 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 
Hollow, hollow ! 
290 



High-tide on Coast of Lincolnshire 

Come uppe, Jetty ! rise and follow ; 

From the clovers lift your head ! 

Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot ! 

Come uppe, Jetty ! rise and follow, 

Jett}^ to the milking-shed." 42 

If it be long — aye, long ago — 

When I beginne to think howe long, 
Againe I hear the Lindis flow. 

Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; 
And all the aire, it seemeth mee. 
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), 
That ring the tune of Endcrby. 49 

Alle fresh the level pasture lay. 
And not a shadowe mote be scene, 

Save where, full fyve good miles away, 
The steeple towered from out the greene. 

And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 

Was heard in all the country side 

That Saturday at eventide. 56 

The swannerds, where their sedges are. 

Moved on in sunset's golden breath ; 
The shepherde lads I heard afarre. 
And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 
Till, floating o'er the grassy sea, 
Came downe that kyndly message free, 
The Brides of Mavis Enderby. 63 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows 
291 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 

And where the lordly steeple shows. 
They sayde, " And why should this thing be, 
What danger lowers by land or sea? 
They ring the tune of Enderby. 7o 

' For evil news from Mablethorpe, 

Of pyrate galleys, warping down, — 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne ; 
But while the west bin red to see. 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee. 
Why ring The Brides of Enderby f" 77 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 

Came riding downe with might and main ; 

He raised a shout as he drew on. 
Till all the welkin rang again : 
' Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! " 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 84 

'The olde sea-wall (he cryed) is downe! 

The rising tide comes on apace ; 
And boats adrift in yonder towne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place ! " 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
' God save you, mother ! " straight he sayth ; 
' Where is my wife, Elizabeth? " 9i 

' Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away 
With her two bairns I marked her long ; 
292 



High-tide on Coast of Lincolnshire 

And ere yon bells beganne to play. 
Afar I heard her milking-song." 
He looked across the grassy sea, 
To right, to left. Ho, Endcrby! 
They rang The Brides of Enderby. 98 

With that he cried and beat his breast ; 

For lo ! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest, 

And iippe the Lindis raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud, — 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 105 

And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, 

Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; 
Then madly at the eygre's breast 

Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 
Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout, — 
Then beaten foam flew round about, — 
Then all the mighty floods were out. "^ 

So farre, so fast, the eygre drave, 
The heart had hardly time to beat. 

Before a shallow seething wave 
Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : 

The feet had hardly time to flee 

Before it brake against the knee, — 

And all the world was in the sea. ^^9 

Upon the roofe we sate that night ; 
The noise of bells went sweeping by; 

293 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the church-tower, red and high,— 
A lurid mark, and dread to see ; 
And awsome bells they were to mee, 
That in the dark rang Endcrhy. 126 

They rang the sailor lads to guide, 

From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 
And I, — my sonne was at my side, 

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 
And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 
' O come in life, or come in death ! 

lost ! my love, Elizabeth ! " i33 

And didst thou visit him no more? 

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; 
The waters laid thee at his doore, 

Ere the early dawn was clear. 
Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
The lifted sun shone on thy face, 
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. uo 

That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea. — 
A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 

To manye more than myne and mee ; 
But each will mourne his own (she saith) 
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 
Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. ^47 

1 shall never hear her more 
By the reedy Lindis shore, 

294 



High-tide on Coast of Lincolnshire 

" Ciisha ! Ciisha ! Cnsha ! " calling, 

Ere the early dews be falling; 

I shall never hear her song, 
" Ciisha ! Cnsha ! " all along, 

Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 
Goeth, floweth, 

From the meads where melick groweth, 

Where the water, winding down. 

Onward floweth to the town. 158 

I shall never see her more, 

Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 

Shiver, quiver. 
Stand beside the sobbing river, — 
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, 
To the sandy, lonesome shore ; 
I shall never hear her calling, 
" Leave your meadow grasses mellow. 

Mellow, mellow ! 
Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ! 
Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot ! 
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow. 

Hollow, hollow ! 
Come uppe, Lightfoot ! rise and follow ; 

Lightfoot! Whitefoot! 
From your clovers lift the head ; 
Come uppe. Jetty ! follow, follow. 
Jetty, to the milking-shed ! " "^i^ 

1863. Jean Ingelow. 



295 



THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE 

Come hither, Evan Cameron ! 

Come, stand behind my knee — 
I hear the river roaring down 

Towards the wintry sea. 
There 's shouting on the mountain-side, 

There 's war within the blast — 
Old faces look upon me, 

Old forms go trooping past : 
I hear the pibroch wailing 

Amidst the din of fight. 
And my dim spirit wakes again 

Upon the verge of night. 12 

'T was I that led the Highland host 

Through wild Lochaber's snows, 
What time the plaided clans came down 

To battle with Montrose. 
I 've told thee how the Southrons fell 

Beneath the broad claymore. 
And how we smote the Campbell clan 

By Inverlochy's shore. 
I 've told thee how we swept Dundee, 

And tamed the Lindsays' pride ; 
But never have I told thee yet 

How the great Marquis died. 24 

296 



The Execution of Montrose 

A traitor sold him to his foes; 

O deed of deathless shame ! 
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet 

With one of Assynt's name — 
Be it upon the mountain's side, 

Or yet within the glen, 
Stand he in martial gear alone, 

Or backed by armed men — 
Face him, as thou wouldst face the man 

Who wronged thy sire's renown ; 
Remember of what blood thou art, 

And strike the caitiff down ! 36 

They brought him to the Watergate, 

Hard bound with hempen span. 
As though they held a lion there. 

And not a fenceless man. 
They set him high upon a cart — 

The hangman rode below — 
They drew his hands behind his back. 

And bared his noble brow. 
Then, as a hound is slipped from leash. 

They cheered the common throng, 
And blew the note with yell and shout, 

And bade him pass along. 48 

It would have made a brave man's heart 

Grow sad and sick that day, 
To watch the keen malignant eyes 

Bent down on that array. 
There stood the Whig west-country lords, 

In balcony and bow ; 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

There sat their gaunt and withered dames, 

And their daughters all a-row. 
And every open window 

Was full as full might be 
With black-robed Covenanting carles, 

That goodly sport to see! 60 

But when he came, though pale and wan, 

He looked so great and high, 
So noble was his manly front, 

So calm his steadfast eye ; — 
The rabble rout forbore to shout, 

And each man held his breath, 
For well they knew the hero's soul 

Was face to face with death. 
And then a mournful shudder 

Through all the people crept. 
And some that came to scoff at him 

Now turned aside and wept. 72 

But onward — always onward. 

In silence and in gloom, 
The dreary pageant laboured, 

Till it reached the house of doom. 
Then first a woman's voice was heard 

In jeer and laughter loud. 
And an angry cry and a hiss arose 

From the heart of the tossing crowd : 
Then as the Graeme looked upward, 

He saw the ugly smile 
Of him who sold his king for gold — 

The master-fiend Argyle ! 84 

298 



The Execution of Montrose 

The Marquis gazed a moment, 

And nothing did he say, 
But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale, 

And he turned his eyes away. 
The painted harlot by his side, 

She shook through every limb, 
For a roar like thunder swept the street. 

And hands were clenched at him ; 
And a Saxon soldier cried aloud, 
" Back, coward, from thy place ! 
For seven long years thou hast not dared 

To look him in the face." 96 

Had I been there with sword in hand, 

And fifty Camerons by. 
That day through high Dunedin's streets 

Had pealed the slogan-cry. 
Not all their troops of trampling horse, 

Nor might of mailed men — 
Not all the rebels in the south 

Had borne us backwards then ! 
Once more his foot on Highland heath 

Had trod as free as air, 
Or I, and all who bore my name. 

Been laid around him there! io8 

It might not be. They placed him next 

Within the solemn hall. 
Where once the Scottish kings were throned 

Amidst their nobles all. 
But there was dust of vulgar feet 

On that polluted floor, 

299 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And perjured traitors filled the place 

Where good men sate before. 
With savage glee came Warristoun 

To read the murderous doom ; 
And then uprose the great Montrose 

In the middle of the room. 120 

" Now, by my faith as belted knight, 

And by the name I bear, 
And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross 

That waves above us there — 
Yea, by a greater, mightier oath — 

And Oh, that such should be ! — 
By that dark stream of royal blood 

That lies 'twixt you and me — 
I have not sought in battle-field 

A wreath of such renown, 
Nor dared I hope on my dying day 

To win the martyr's crown ! '32 

" There is a chamber far away 

Where sleep the good and brave. 
But a better place ye have named for me 

Than by my father's grave. 
For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, 

This hand hath always striven. 
And ye raise it up for a witness still 

In the eye of earth and heaven. 
Then nail my head on yonder tower — 

Give every town a limb — 
And God who made shall gather them: 

I go from you to Him ! " ^44 

300 



The Execution of Montrose 

The morning dawned full darkly, 

The rain came flashing down, 
And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt 

Lit up the gloomy town : 
The thunder crashed across the heaven, 

The fatal hour was come ; 
Yet aye broke in with muflled beat, 

The 'larum of the drum. 
There was madness on the earth below 

And anger in the sky, 
And young and old, and rich and poor, 

Came forth to see him die. 156 

Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet ! 

How dismal 't is to see 
The great tall spectral skeleton. 

The ladder and the tree ! 
Hark ! hark ! it is the clash of arms — 

The bells begin to toll— 
"He is coming! he is coming! 

God's mercy on his soul ! " 
One last long peal of thunder — 

The clouds are cleared away, 
And the glorious sun once more looks down 

Amidst the dazzling day. ^68 

"He is coming! he is coming!" 

Like a bridegroom from his room, 
Came the hero from his prison 

To the scaffold and the doom. 
There was glory on his forehead, 
There was lustre in his eye, 
301 ' 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And he never walked to battle 

More proudly than to die : 
There was colour in his visage, 

Though the cheeks of all were wan ; 
And they marvelled as they saw him pass, 

That great and goodly man ! i8o 

He mounted up the scaffold, 

And he turned him to the crowd ; 
But they dared not trust the people, 

So he might not speak aloud. 
But he looked upon the heavens, 

And they were clear and blue, 
And in the liquid ether 

The eye of God shone through ! 
Yet a black and murky battlement 

Lay resting on the hill, 
As though the thunder slept within — 

All else was calm and still. 192 

The grim Geneva ministers 

With anxious scowl drew near, 
As you have seen the ravens flock 

Around the dying deer. 
He would not deign them word nor sign, 

But alone he bent the knee ; 
And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace 

Beneath the gallows-tree. 
Then radiant and serene he rose, 

And cast his cloak away: 
For he had ta'en his latest look 

Of earth and sun and day. 204 

302 



The Shameful Death 

A beam of light fell o'er him, 

Like a glory round the shriven, 
And he climbed the lofty ladder 

As it were the path to heaven. 
Then came a flash from out the cloud, 

And a stunning thunder-roll ; 
And no man dared to look aloft, 

For fear was on every soul. 
There was another heavy sound, 

A hush and then a groan ; 
And darkness swept across the sky — 

The work of death was done! 216 

1848. William Edmondstoune Aytoun. 



THE SHAMEFUL DEATH 

There were four of us about that bed; 

The mass-priest knelt at the side, 
I and his mother stood at the head. 

Over his feet lay the bride ; 
We were quite sure that he was dead, 

Though his eyes were open wide. 

He did not die in the night, 

He did not die in the day, 
But in the morning twilight 

His spirit pass'd away, 
When neither sun nor moon was bright, 

And the trees were merely gray. 

303 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

He was not slain with the sword, 
Knight's axe, or the knightly spear, 

Yet spoke he never a word 
After he came in here ; 

I cut away the cord 

From the neck of my brother dear. i8 

He did not strike one blow. 

For the recreants came behind, 

In the place where the hornbeams grow, 
A path right hard to find, 

For the hornbeam boughs swing so, 

That the twilight makes it blind. 24 

They lighted a great torch then, 
When his arms were pinion'd fast, 

Sir John the knight of the Fen, 
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, 

With knights threescore and ten. 

Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. 3o 

I am threescore and ten, 

And my hair is all turn'd grey, 

But I met Sir John of the Fen 
Long ago on a summer day, 

And am glad to think of the moment when 
I took his life away. 36 

I am threescore and ten, 

And my strength is mostly pass'd. 

But long ago I and my men, 
When the sky was overcast, 

304 



Rizpah 

And the smoke roU'd over the reeds of the 
fen, 
Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. 42 

And now, knights all of you, 
I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, 

A good knight and a true, 

And for Alice, his wife, pray too. 46 

1858. William Morris. 



RIZPAH 

17— 

Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land 

and sea — 
And Willy's voice in the wind, " O mother, 

come out to me ! " 
Why should he call me to-night, when he 

knows that I cannot go? 
For the downs are as bright as day, and the full 

moon stares at the snow. 4 

We should be seen, my dear ; they would spy us 
out of the town. 

The loud black nights for us, and the storm 
rushing over the down. 

When I cannot see my own hand, but am led 
by the creak of the chain, 

And grovel and grope for my son till I find my- 
self drenched with the rain. 8 

305 



Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Anything fallen again? nay — what was there 

left to fall? 
I have taken them home, I have number'd the 

bones, I have hidden them all. 
What am I saying? and what are you? do you 

come as a spy? 
Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree 

falls so must it lie. " 

Who let her in? how long has she been? you — 

what have you heard? 
Why did you sit so quiet ? you never have 

spoken a word. 
O — to pray with me — yes — a lady — none of 

their spies — 
But the night has crept into my heart, and 

begun to darken my eyes. i6 



Ah — you, that have lived so soft, what should 

you know of the night, 
The blast and the burning shame and the bitter 

frost and the fright? 
I have done it, while you were asleep — you 

were only made for the day. 
I have gather'd my baby together — and now 

you may go your way. 20 

Nay — for it 's kind of you. Madam, to sit by an 

old dying wife. 
But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an 

hour of life. 

306 



Rizpah 

I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went 
out to die. 
" They dared me to do it," he said, and he never 
has told me a lie. 
I whipt him for robbing an orchard once when 
he was but a child — 
" The farmer dared me to do it," he said ; he was 
always so wild — 
And idle — and could n't be idle — my Willy — 

he never could rest. 
The King should have made him a soldier, he 
would have been one of his best. 28 

But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they 

never would let him be good ; 
They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and 

he swore that he would ; 
And he took no life, but he took one purse, and 

when all was done 
He flung it among his fellows — "I'll none of 

it," said my son. 32 

I came into court to the Judge and the lawyers. 

I told them my tale, 
God's own truth — but they kill'd him, they 

kill'd him for robbing the mail. 
They hang'd him in chains for a show — we had 

always borne a good name — 
To be hang'd for a thief — and then put away — 

is n't that enough shame? 
Dust to dust — low down — let us hide! but 

they set him so high 

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That all the ships of the world could stare at 

him, passing by. 
God '11 pardon the hell-black raven and horrible 

fowls of the air, 
But not the black heart of the lawyer who 

kill'd him and hang'd him there. 40 

And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him 
my last good bye ; 

They had fasten'd the door of his cell. " O 
mother ! " I heard him cry. 

I could n't get back tho' I tried, he had some- 
thing further to say, 

And now I never shall know it. The jailer 

forced me away. 44 

Then since I could n't but hear that cry of my 

boy that was dead, 
They seized me and shut me up : they fasten'd 

me down on my bed. 
'Mother, O mother!" — he call'd in the dark to 

me year after year — 
They beat me for that, they beat me — you know 

that I could n't but hear ; 
And then at the last they found I had grown so 

stupid and still 
They let me abroad again — but the creatures 

had worked their will. 5o 

Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my 

bone was left — 
I stole them all from the lawyers — and you, 

will you call it a theft? — 
308 



Rizpah 

My baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the 
bones that had laugh'd and had cried— 

Theirs? O, no! they are mine — not theirs — 
they had moved in my side. 54 



Do you think I was scared by the bones ? I 

kiss'd 'em, I buried 'em all — 
I can't dig deep, I am old — in the night by the 

churchyard wall. 
My Willy '11 rise up whole when the trumpet 

of judgment '11 sound; 
But I charge you never to say that I laid him 

in holy ground. 58 



They would scratch him up — they would hang 

him again on the cursed tree. 
Sin? O yes, we are sinners, I know — let all 

that be, 
And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's good- 
will toward men — 
Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord" — let 

me hear it again ; 
Full of compassion and mercy — long-suffering." 

Yes, O yes ! 
For the lawyer is born but to murder — the 

Saviour lives but to bless. 
He '11 never put on the black cap except for the 

worst of the worst. 
And the first may be last — I have heard it in 

church — and the last may be first. 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Suffering — O, long-suffering — yes, as the Lord 

must know, 
Year after year in the mist and the wind and 

the shower and the snow. ^8 



Heard, have you? what? they have told you he 

never repented his sin. 
How do they know it? are they his mother? 

are you of his kin? 
Heard ! have you ever heard, when the storm 

on the downs began. 
The wind that 'ill wail like a child and the sea 

that 'ill moan like a man? 72 

Election, Election, and Reprobation — it 's all 

very well. 
But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find 

him in Hell. 
For I cared so much for my boy that the Lord 

has look'd into my care. 
And He means me I 'm sure to be happy with 

Willy, I know not where. 76 

And if /zr be lost — but to save 7ny soul, that is 

all your desire — 
Do you think that I care for jny soul if my boy 

be gone to the fire? 
I have been with God in the dark — go, go, you 

may leave me alone — 
You never have borne a child — you are just as 

hard as a stone. 80 

310 



The Raven 

Madam, I beg your pardon ! I think that you 

mean to be kind, 
But I cannot hear what you say for my Willy's 

voice is in the wind — 
The snow and the sky so bright — he used but 

to call in the dark. 
And he calls to me now from the church and 

not from the gibbet — for hark! 
Nay — you can hear it yourself — it is coming — 

shaking the walls — 
Willy — the moon 's in a cloud Good night. 

I am going. He calls. 86 

1880. Lord Tennyson. 



THE RAVEN 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 
weak and weary. 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of for- 
gotten lore, — 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there 
came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my 
chamber door. 

'T is some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my 
chamber door ; 
Only this, and nothing more." 6 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak 

December, 
And each -separate dying ember wrought its 

ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had 

sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow, — sorrow 

for the lost Lenore, — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the 

angels named Lenore, — 
Nameless here for evermore. 12 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each 

purple curtain 
Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors 

never felt before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I 

stood repeating, 
" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door, — 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my 

chamber door; 

That it is, and nothing more." ^8 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating 
then no longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgive- 
ness I implore ; 
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently 

you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my 
chamber door, 

312 



The Raven 

That I scarce was sure I heard you" — Here I 
opened wide the door ; 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 24 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood 
there, wondering, fearing. 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever 
dared to dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 
gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whis- 
pered word " Lenore ! " 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back 
the word " Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 30 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul 
within me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder 
than before. 

Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my 
window-lattice ; 

Let me see then what thereat is, and this mys- 
tery explore, — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mys- 
tery explore ; — 

'T is the wind, and nothing more." 36 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many 

a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly 

days of yore. 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant 

stopped or stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above 

my chamber door, — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my 

chamber door, — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 42 



Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy 
into smiling, 

By the grave and stern decorum of the counte- 
nance it wore, 

Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," 
I said, " art sure no craven ; 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering 
from the Nightly shore. 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's 
Plutonian shore?" 
Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore ! " 48 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear 
discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning, little rele- 
vancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living 
human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his 
chamber door. 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above 
his chamber door, 

With such name as " Nevermore ! " 54 

314 



The Raven 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, 

spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word 

he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered, — not a feather 

then he fluttered, — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other 

friends have flown before, — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes 

have flown before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " 60 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so 
aptly spoken. 

Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only 
stock and store, 

Caught from some unhappy master whom un- 
merciful Disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster, till his song 
one burden bore. 

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy bur- 
den bore, — 

Of ' Never — nevermore ! ' " 66 

Eut the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul 

into smiling. 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of 

bird and bust and door. 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself 

to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous 

bird of yore — 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and 
ominous bird of yore — 
Meant in croaking "Nevermore!" 7^ 



This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable 
expressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into 
my bosom's core ; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at 
ease reclining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp- 
light gloated o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp- 
light gloating o'er. 

She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 78 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed 
from an unseen censer. 

Swung by Seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on 
the tufted floor. 

Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee, — by 
these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite, — respite and nepenthe from thy memo- 
ries of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget 
this lost Lenore ! "' 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore ! " 84 

Prophet! " said I, "thing of evil! — prophet 

still, if bird or devil ! 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest 

tossed thee here ashore, 
316 



The Raven 

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land 

enchanted, — 
On this home by Horror haunted, — tell me 

truly, I implore, — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me, — 

tell me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore ! " 9o 

Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet 
still, if bird or devil ! 

By that heaven that bends above us, — by that 
God we both adore. 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the 
distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the an- 
gels name Lenore, 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the 
angels name Lenore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore ! " 96 



".Be that word our sign of parting, bird or 

fiend ! " I shrieked, upstarting, — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's 
Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy 

soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust 

above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy 
form from off my door ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore ! " 10- 

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Little Masterpieces of English Poetry 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, 

still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my 

chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's 

that is dreaming, 
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws 

his shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies 

floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore! loS". 

1845. Edgar Allan Poe. 



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